"They're right, the skies won't help us." The stars - they'll won't be any help if this is a different world, and given none of them seem to know the same world, he's expecting it is. Can they even assume the sun rises in the east and sets in the west here? Who knows. "We'll have to use the camp site to gain bearing if we venture out. "

Pulling up the wood he'd been carving at to keep himself busy, he shows the others that he's whittled a small pile of stakes - markers to lead the way back once they explore out. They're thin, small things, that didn't take much more than a couple planks from the crates.

He also doesn't miss Helena near growling at the horned boy, and had it been someone who hadn't become somewhat familiar to him, the immediate aggression against something nonhuman might've bothered him. But Helena is just odd by nature, it seems. Iorveth holds out a piece of broken crate siding and one of the knives he'd been carving with to her. Hush, booboo, the bard's harmless. Help him craft things to take your mind off it. Now, answering Newt's comments - "Foraging isn't a likely option in this environment, but the furs must have come from somewhere. We should form a hunting party."