Calling Ed's little set up a camp was being generous. It'd been a long time since he was without a ship and frankly he didn't have much motivation to do anything more. He'd made some sort of structure of branches pulled from a tree and fabrics he'd stolen from one of the shops he'd passed on his way back from the apartment and while he refused to call a fort for reasons he'd explain to no one, it looked a lot like a child's blanket fort.
He'd slept in it the first night, but after inspecting this world a bit closer the next day he'd realized that none of the weather here was right. None of it was even real. So he'd just started sleeping on the sand outside it. Used it to hide his few belongings instead. If he didn't have to worry about rain or cold then why bother with a covering.
When Rob found him he was sitting with his knife in hand, stabbing randomly at a tree trunk not far from his little fort. Not really doing anything with it (though he'd probably gather up the little bits of bark for a fire later) but just stabbing, occasionally throwing his other hand against the tree and aiming between his fingers. Trying to work out boredom or anger or frustration; he hadn't decided which.
The approach of the horse stopped the stabbing though, and while he didn't sheath the knife, he did lower it to his side. The last thing he needed was a startled horse. Or maybe that was just what he needed. He wasn't sure.
"Candles and tobacco?" he asked, realizing they'd never exchanged names.