Tiny sticks at the bottom. Little sticks in a cone around that, plenty of room to breathe. Medium sticks in a cone around that. And a tripod of the larger logs around the whole lot.

She leans back and surveys her handiwork.

There's a little flash of red light and a thin ribbon of smoke is rising. She pockets the screwdriver and looks across at his own contribution, seemingly unperturbed by the whole process.