"It's a plant. You dry it and then roll -- well, here." Mal flips open his satchel, digging about in it until he pulls out a slightly crumpled rectangular package with 'Lucky Strike' emblazoned on the side. With quick, sure tap to the bottom, one cigarette pokes out and Malcolm offers it to her with one hand even as he taps out the lighter and juggles that into his palm with the other (talent for sure but one he'd taken to in Bastogne. One less hand fiddling with cigarettes was one less hand flailing around for longer then it had to in the cold).

"Some people just tap it into a pipe but cigarettes are more common now'a'days. You light it up and breath in, hold the smoke in your lungs and mouth a moment before breathing it back out." He quirks a smile. "It's therapeutic as anything."