"Seventy-three," he says dismissively - always one for the hanging details (or more accurately: can't let it stand when someone's being imprecise, especially if that someone's name begins with 'Nathan' and ends with 'Drake').

He shifts on his elbows, taking the map and folding it up neatly enough before passing the little square of paper to Nate for safe keeping. "Mosquitoes. They don't like me; not sweet enough."

And he throws Nate a grin before he gets a knee under himself, clambering to his feet.