Who cares about the places beyond the borders? Not him, not now. Not when there's work to be done and he can still find himself beside Goody at the end of the day. That's all that matters to him right now- there isn't anything for them to go back to. Rose Creek had been their death beds, and in the life before, Billy had been a wanted man.

At least here, his bounty wasn't known, even if he tenses with every stranger he meets.

"No, thanks." Billy protests to the help, hand tight on the handle of the axe as the stranger approaches. But he takes one of the split logs he's been chopping, pulls away to set it on some outcropping.

And then a thing of miracles happens- the log catches alight, burning bright even with the rain and wind howling against it. Crackling like it had never been moist. Too bad that Billy doesn't believe in miracles, and that to him Magic is what the old men in Yee Fow call wishes that sometimes work.

"Nice trick." There's a tone of disbelief, as if he's some stage magician like Faraday, ready to pull a card from his sleeve.
"Waste of wood."