"I would not risk it, if possible," Carlisle says, his nose wrinkling at the very thought of a bug-filled fruit. "Those who trust the false gods can eat the food they provide, and those of us who do not will sustain ourselves otherwise. Glacius hunts."

And Carlisle eats that, because he is painfully incapable of fending for himself in such a manner. Though trained in trapping and tracking, his skills are novice, at best, and he's not sure any trap he could set would hold the wildlife he's seen so far. Even his attempt to catch a beetle failed. He sighs, feeling pathetic, as usual.

He looks to the spider deer in her harness, having a seat on the ground as he finds a clean piece of paper. Might as well take notes while he can. "You're keeping her as livestock, then? Or a pet? Surely she cannot rejoin the wild if hand-reared."