When he sees the small crowd around the campfire with their sticks and their marshmallows, Wrench finds himself suddenly stricken with the realization that it's entirely possible to be homesick for a place that one has never had. He feels that strange magnetic pull and recognizes it once for what it is, but he doesn't bother to fight it. The manufactured allure is a hallmark of Deerington, but the crackling fire seems banal enough to risk.

He settles himself in the midst of the action and draws out his Fluid, letting the tales of horror and history become text on the screen of his phone. The man looks more like a character in one of those classic tales than he does eager participant. Surely the thoughtful scowl he wears as he watches the words appear does nothing to help his posture. But when another volunteer pipes up out of the lull, he looks around the group to orient himself to the new storyteller, and silently beckons him ahead.