Altair accepted his mug of coffee and shot Drake a look of open amusement. "Maybe he snatched those hares out of the gaping maws of a werewolf," he suggested wryly. "In that case I'd say he made out pretty well. Or perhaps he met a mud elemental outside of camp and saved our lives as well as adding to our provisions." He finally tore his eyes away from Drake's shirtless and muddy chest and smirked sidelong at Ari. "Or perhaps bunnies are really difficult to snare. How many have you caught, Ari? You don't know."
He took a sip of coffee—it was quite possibly the best cup of coffee he'd ever had, perhaps because he was outdoors and the wind was blowing and he had been growing rather chilly—and he eyed the hares Drake had tossed on the ground. "Who is going to cook those?" he asked. Altair didn't intend to. He'd already done his part. True, Wil had added to it a bit, but all that chopping seemed somewhat unnecessary when there were branches lying all around.