“Foraged the herbs and made it meself,” Astrid says, and there’s a thread of real pride in her voice, even if it’s kind of a horrifying concoction. Meant to be slugged down in a single quick swallow, like a punch to the jaw.

“S’a little too warm out here though. If you serve it cold, like near-freezing, then it mellows out and doesn’t taste so strong. In winter, we’d keep some bottles stored in the snow.”

She pours them another round — this is taste-testing, this is for science — and then considers Cedric’s answer. “Sculpture. You ever tried whittling? Carving.”