He fills a pot from the water filter and sets it to boiling on the wood stove; the chimney traces up along the wall. It's easy enough for him to light the fire in the bottom of it, and to keep it controlled, but he does chop wood for it nonetheless - it's easier to have a little kindling.

The kitchen's small and connected to a dining-living room, a table and chairs rescued from someone's tag sale and a wooden ledge to sit on built into the house itself. At some point he might upholster the chairs and bench but he hasn't gotten there yet. There are stairs up to the loft bedroom from there, and in the space below is a small study area filled with more esoteric materials and books.

"No, they're not aggressive," he agrees, glancing at her. He's not sure if she's curious or judging him. "They're meant to put people off the trail, not harm them. If there's a real threat to me, I'll deal with it in person." The kettle whistles, and he pours water into a cup. "But you were with me, I suspect that's why you didn't sense them. Do you have a tea preference?"