Astrid comes wandering over with a few wooden boards slung over one shoulder, sweat trickling down a temple in the heat, headed to the work-in-progress eyrie amidst its cloud of dust and wood-dust and irritatingly biting flies. They’re not nice conditions to work in, but she bites back a laugh as she overhears this quiet, polite, professional doctor lose his composure. Not what she’d expected, exactly.

“Not always a carpenter, then?” she asks as she rounds the corner of the stables.