At a loss for what to do, Bertram looked about, dusted the dirt off of his pants, and started rooting around for firewood... despite the fact that he knew very little about how to start a fire. He supposed that dried things were good for fuel, and that sticks were rubbed together at some point, but in the end, all he'd gathered was a mix of twigs in varying sizes. He sat down and tried to rub and rub, to no avail. That failed, he then turned to his horse and looked out into the darkness.

"It's okay, Audra," he said, forcing some cheer into his voice. "I'll protect you. I'm Bertam Reinhardt, and you're my horse, and as long as you're by my side, you will be safe."

He gave the mare a gentle pat on the side of her neck, while his other hand now rested upon the pommel of his sword. It was long, and rather ornate in its shine - clearly that of a noble, untested and knowing little of the world's marauding ways. As if sensing the unease in her rider and erstwhile protector, the mare finally lifted her head and gave his fingers a reassuring nibble. Bertram smiled at the gesture, heedless of the peril for the moment, then returning to his woeful pile of sticks.

"Well... I have all night to try, I suppose," he whispered, rolling up his sleeves. "I'll get this lit in no time, you'll see."