A halting glance means that Prior has questions of his own, but he suppresses those urges in favor of reminding himself what's truly important: safety, shelter, water, food. Fitzjames, if he truly does know the doctor, and he truly isn't lying about whether or not he'll die before morning, then perhaps Prior can relinquish the stranglehold on his duty-sworn fatherhood. Not every man is his man.

And yet—

"They're flares," he says, twisting to examine the labeling in the warmth of the flickering fire. "French, from the looks of it." Or close enough, as it's dual labeling is meant for Canada. Prior makes a face and tests the cap. His eyes lift and he squares his attention on Fitzjames. "They would light our way..."