Jasper takes another swig of coffee and hangs onto the thermos this time while he takes in Cricket's answer. The twang of the accents down here is still novel, but that doesn't distract him too much from the actual meat of what Cricket's saying -- that things are tricky and that the Bondurants (it never gets old: the actual fuckin' Bondurants!) aren't about to fold. And, hell, that's exactly the kind of thing Jasper is eager to hear in the middle of a cold night, far from home, with a long and perilous journey ahead: that some people aren't giving in, even with the law right on their doorstep. Even if those people are, according to Ray, supposedly already supernaturally invincible.

He lets himself imagine the picture Cricket lays out of the hills, and smiles a bit, too. The image, fires like little candles rising up in the dark, conjures up a memory, a connection; one he doesn't mind sharing. "Sounds like the rum runners' boats back home. All them lights out in the bay waitin' to load up 'n ship out." He takes a slow breath of earthy mountain air that smells nothing like home and gives the coffee an idle swirl. "Somethin' to behold, eh?"

He does miss it sometimes.