There is an audible flick, and a brief scratch.
A small flame illuminates the palms of the dark-furred male as he cups them around the notably badly-shaped cigarette in his maw.
As soon as he lights it and takes a draw, your sense of smell tells you your suspicion was right.
That ain't /just/ a cigarette.
Isn't that going to warrant disciplinary action?
Even if he is the Comms Officer, surely someone higher-up...?

"Don't worry. Centurion knows he can't do without me. And also, everybody is aware anyway, as the stuff smells three miles against the wind."

His voice is a deep hum, accented by the easy smile on his muzzle as he looks at you.
He had read your expression like an open book. Seems to be quite perceptive...
You look down at the small pack he had handed you, seeing inside exactly what you suspect. And smelled.
He is holding out his lighter slightly towards you, flashing a grin now.

"Need a light?"

And why not?
Getting a calmer patrol like this, away from the Brand and into a quiet forest, is a rare treat.
May as well enjoy it to the fullest, while it lasts.

---

Beautiful drawing of my handsome blackcat, Argus Stormseeker!  giveortake did stellar work again, and I freaking love the end result!