“Wasn’t a big hubbub or anything, just found her wandering,” Astrid says easily. And perhaps some people might politely wave it aside and say the meal itself wasn’t necessary, not wanting to be an imposition, or avoiding taking a meal with an almost-stranger, but Astrid brightens at the offer.

Food is community; a stranger might become a friend yet. Also, she is peckish and the wallet of a traveling tradeswoman isn’t exactly heavily-loaded, although something in this countryside means she never quite starves, either: the stakes are always low, a cozy predictable routine driving you onward but not to the extent you fear for your life. Her thin ribcage still remembers hunger, but it doesn’t seem a problem here, lately.

“That’d be great though, yeah,” she says, “if you’ve got another seat at your table. If it ain’t too big a hassle for the wife, like.”