Fyroh seemed slightly worried when Sorain said that she might not be a surface dweller, and even more so when she punched Tribane, and also when she stabbed herself in the thigh. Slowly, he got up. "Uh. I could probably get a friend to set a fire for us, he can do it in an instant." He took a small stone from his pocket and threw it into the air, creating a tiny little spark in the sky; you wouldn't notice it unless you were staring right there, but soon enough, a rustle came from the bushes, and a spark shot from there; lighting the fire. "Cheers, Olhal." Fyroh called out.
"Anytime." came the reply, as the figure shuffled off again. Fyroh ran after him, and stopped him; they had a small conversation before Fyroh allowed him to leave. Fyrohs attention turned to Tribane. He walked over and rubbed his back comfortingly. "Don't worry about her." he whispered, and picked up the dagger. "You did great. I can tell some time you're going to be great..." He put it away, and took out a very cheap penknife; ripping off the handle. "Cheap ****." he muttered, before placing the blade alone on the ground. "See if you can raise that even higher. It's much lighter so it shouldn't require as much effort..."