Leaving one of the little supply sheds, there is a little cowboy with a small wooden crate of bottles, presumably beer. They're headed back toward the campsite at a jaunty little trot when they notice Pyotr, taking a few more steps before halting and walking backwards cartoonishly. They set down the crate, grabbing two bottles, and jog over to him, handing him one.

The satchel at their hip has an odd, mouth-like apparatus sticking out of it. They remove it, fiddle with a setting briefly, and then out comes a pop of blue light and a sound. A voice. That of James Sunderland, to be precise. "You holding up okay?"