"Chickens exist in my world," he insists with a sprinkling of petulance in his tone. "I just preferred hunting harpies."

He gives due consideration to the paintings of deer...? Maybe harts or elk this far south. The work is a bit too stylized that to his own eye it could be any of the three.

But it brings up something that's been niggling at the back of his mind since arriving here.

"It's strange," he says slowly, "what commonalities each world has and doesn't have."