The Drow glanced up at the doves before dismissing them as not a threat. They were merely doves, but doves meant food. Tempting as it was to string her bow and hunt, it wasn't the time. Not yet. They had supplies, and if worst came to worst she'd resort to eating the elf. It was a horrible thing to do but it was a matter of survival. Zarriia was nothing if not a survivor. The ale would be useful, though not as a drink. It would not be worth while. Better to use it as a weapon, or fuel if it resorted to that. Wedging the ropes off she steadily worked it off the lid, pulling it off quickly. Her sword was ready to attack any threat or deflect it.

Letting the ropes remain on the other two she replace the lids and began to dig a pit of the fire. Adjusting it so it was higher on the side with a clear veiw of the beach. "Put the wood for the fire in there. Stack the rest in the boat to help weigh it down." She looked at the spare entrance, checking both the time and weather as she did so. "Don't drink the ale, may be of use later. Three boxes of rations." Her voice gave a deep chuckle. "You have a affinity with fire. Something comes up, dump ale on them and set it on fire." She grinned with a violent glee. "Sounds like a warm bonfire."