A snort of delight. “They’ve been named after the chupacabra,” Reyes said, charmed to find this small piece of long-ago Earth and Mexico in so unexpected a place. It’s like a comforting echo of home, a small reminder despite the uncountable distance between there and where he is now. “An old folklore creature. It drinks the blood of animals, typically goats. So this thing is well-named, but also terrifying, now that I think about it.” He nudged the edge of the dead deer with the toe of one boot.

Her descriptions were like a quick whistle-stop tour of fauna and bestiary — and it was both helpful and funny, which was two of his favourite things combined.

“My next goal, as soon as I’ve survived this damned blizzard, is collecting an entire roomful of blissful-idiot kittens. I don’t know about you, but I desperately miss having a private bar.”