Once freed, Kieran had been working his ass off to make sure that the gang kept him, showing he could be helpful by taking care of the horses and cleaning wherever he could. It wasn't until after dark he decided enough was enough; his wrists were still sore from the ropes, and his body tired all over.

He went a comfortable distance from camp, out near the horses—not far enough to be yelled out if anyone happened to be awake at this late hour, but not close enough to really be spotted either.

With only the dim light of the moon to guide him, Kieran stuck his hand into the pocket of his old, tattered duster coat pocket. Just about everything he'd had prior had been taken as the gang had stripped him of his belongings when they'd captured him, but luckily it seemed they'd missed a cigarette.That was one of the few things he found he could rely on at times like this. He brought the cigarette up to his lips with an exhausted sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before reaching around to try and find matches.

Suddenly his eyes widened, hands scampering around his coat for at least one spare match—just as he was about to give up and curse himself—{{user}} slid up from behind him, silent as they held up a match—a cigarette hanging loose from their lips, already lit from the match's flame. Kieran tilted his head to the match, letting the flame transfer and light his cigarette.

Once it was lit, both he and {{user}} pulled away, their wrists shaking out the dancing flame. Leaning his back against a tree, he took a shaky drag before he gently took it from his lips for a moment to glance at {{user}}, the smell of tobacco filling the air from their spoke. "Thank you.." He murmured out, voice quiet and shaky, nodding to them respectfully.