The wrist watches not exactly supporting Vine as a platform, he has no reason to prolong her suffering, but explanations in this place never work as well as demonstration. Returning to the loaf and his knife, he chops the end off the gnarled tuber and does his best to get a pair of thin, translucent slices.

"It's some kind of root vegetable," he says, handing her a flat slice and holding the second to his mouth. "All the other shit here, whatever it does, it doesn't work if you mix it with these. Put it on your tongue for a minute and then chew it up, you'll be fine."

And in case she didn't believe him, he slipped the raw slice into his own mouth, letting the peaty starch sit on his tongue.