He’s been drinking already. Propped on his side, tongue loose and brow wrinkled,

"Moving rocks. Moving wood. Moving rocks’n wood." Leisure and reconstruction and a desperate need to seem useful at all times don't go together. Cedric shakes his head, laughs, "Oughta get into sculpture."

Multi-task. He salutes the shot, then tips it back.

"Delltash —" Coughing, clutching the cup. "— Where'd you find this?"

He's reaching for another.