[ Nash finds campfires endlessly fascinating. According to the southern mystics, a person could stare into the fire and see their future written there, if they knew how to read it. Nash doesn't actually know, and isn't sure he would want to, given the chance. But sometimes he wonders.

And so Nash is a bit distracted with all his looking at nothing, when Shell interrupts. ]

Oh— sure. Waste not, want not, that's the motto I was raised with. [ And he takes the s'more, eating it while his gaze travels back to the fire, and he keeps talking, in a voice of little profundity. ]

You really have to wonder whether fires only seem alive because they go out.