[ Quentin glances back, temporarily confused, and after a moment of silence as he looks over his surroundings--and people, which he half-waves to awkwardly--he takes a place near Bull, rummages through his bag once he takes it off, and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. ]

That's the gist of it. You have to account for a bunch of things, we call them circumstances--star position, tides, phases of the moon, altitude, temperature, which direction you're facing, the seasons, blah blah blah--and then yeah. Fire.

It's easier here. More circumstances, but it's like there's something guiding me to the conclusions instead of trying to do all the math in my head. Want one?

[ He's got a cigarette in his mouth, offering the pack to Bull without even thinking about it. ]

You never answered my question. About what you are. Like, I'm human.