He nods and replaces the taper in the fire. The smoke is nice, a familiar, homey kind of smell he hadn't thought to experience here. He takes the pipe when offered and has a puff or two, holding it in before releasing it in a thin wreath around his face and offering it back.

"I reckon that might be a problem," he says. He leans back until he can rest an elbow on his bedroll, one knee cocking up, the other leg stretching out, a half recumbent pose that wouldn't be out of place around a campfire.

"Might be able to barter with some. Bound to be a few with smokes if ya can find 'em." Finding people seems just as hard as finding supplies, though.