Leander had been watching Colin fuss with the embers from a few strides away, arms folded, wearing a half-lidded look of either tired interest or disgruntlement—it's hard to say. They look rather the same, with that little line between his eyebrows and everything. Pointedly, he did not offer to trace a glyph, nor did he raise the concern that maybe they shouldn't be building a fire just now. Probably it's because someone told him to shut up earlier and he's being needlessly passive aggressive about it. Let them all struggle and perish, then, see if he cares.

Well, no, he does care: it would reflect poorly on him if they died, and at least one person would be put out by his loss. There's something perversely attractive about that idea—there, I've died this time, see how you like it—only he's not in a hurry to do it for real, and certainly not out of spite. That's a little much even for him.

Anyway, now that there's a cauldron going, he's ignoring it. There's no struggle in that.

His arms are still folded. From Colin he looks between Nikos and Bastien, with a prim expression, waiting for one of them to answer first.