While Dustin struggles and screams and debates with himself, Wilson watches with bemusement, then picks up a nearby branch, roughly the length of a forearm as well as a bushel of dry grass, knotting the latter onto the end of the first, humming cheerfully.

When Dustin goes still, the scientist leans forward and holds his improvised torch to the small flame of the lighter, waiting for it to catch. It does just in time for Dustin to yell at him and Wilson leans away again, one brow raised and a burning torch in hand. “What was that?”

He then offers the torch to Dustin, with a nod towards the lighter. “You will run out of butane before this torch goes out. Let’s swap for a moment.” A pause, and a cheerful, sharp toothed grin. “Trust me. I’m a professional!”