As long as I have a fire, I think I'll make it through the night. [There's the sound of twigs snapping, and wood clacking, behind that pleasant tone.] Provided, of course, I don't run out of wood first.

[The journal moves slightly as the man on the other side shifts, and something is thrown on the fire, which snaps and crackles, and where there is no image, suddenly there is one, briefly, outlined in firelight, and thrown into sharp relief, along with a pile of gathered wood.

Then darkness falls again as the flare of fire dies down and masks everything back to outlines, only for things to steadily brighten again as there's blurry movement again. The image of the man, highlighted and heavy shadowed by campfire (as only campfire can), appears once more, and even though it may be hard to make out his features, he's raising an eyebrow at you and your flat tone.

Huh, it appears he was more concerned with the state of that fire (and wood supply), than having his face close by the journal. Appears, anyway.]

I'm flattered. Really. It's nice to know I'm so liked. [The face moves as he glances outside] Hmm... they're northwest.