"Thanks," he answers slowly, turning the mangled loaf in his hands and wondering if anyone will notice. Well, they'll definitely notice, but will they look the gift horse in the mouth? Maybe that's who he'll blame, if anyone asks. One of those weird horses stuck its head in the window. People fucking love horses, for reasons beyond him, they'll probably just take half their breakfast to go coax the things out of their pen.

"Drinking the pain usually goes better than eating it," he agrees, cutting off a lopsided slice and handing it to her--finally getting a good look in the process.

"Ah, shit, you got into the salt. Bread's not the thing for that, here." Bustling into the pantry, he returns to hand her a shriveled, pale tuber. "I can bake it up if you're picky, but raw is faster."