It's difficult to say whether it's maternal instinct that drives Sawbones or the sense of duty that had been impressed upon her by Old Sawbones. She drags out a tin of biscuits anyway. She's hungry.

"Not surface stuff, but I got some Duster tea left still if you're desperate." She leaves him to snoop as he pleases. There's nothing particularly breakable, all the alchemic tools she prefers made from sturdy, dented metals, the journals and books all medical, though one journal is clearly for anatomical studies. For her part, she digs around in a cupboard that smells strongly of mint and elfroot, through various carefully sorted and stored tinctures and potions, "Should be safe enough for you to drink."