Punchy is, for once, the first awake, making a gods-almighty racket tearing the baggage cart to pieces.

"Et was right here dammit!"

Eventually Punchy comes up with the remains of a fair-sized barrel smelling of beer. He begins to cry.

"Oh waily waily waily! Ets gone! No. More. Beer!"

Yala, unsurprisingly, pulls the covers over her head and refuses to get up.

Zaljan pulls off Yala's covers. He rolls her over so he can face him - he's not wearing his mask. "Be tired of game, girlie. You make work harda, make all us push till we sick. You be mad with fatha, but take out anga on us." He pauses a moment, but doesn't let her protest if she tries. "Don' be fair to me, to fighta, to shorty, to giant, to ranga, to anyone. We been treatin' you fair, treatin' you betta than fatha, an' you thank us this way. Does that sound like da good thin' to you?"

Yala struggles to get away from meeting his gaze. "You don't treat me fair! You treat me awful! You're just going to dump me off and leave me! What do you even care? Leave me alone!"

"Can I turn her into a rug yet?" Edric asks plaintively. "Please?"

"Waily waily waily!"

Zaljan grabs her chin - she can't look away. "You know that not true. You jus' angry, but it be tired now. You don' mean what you say, an' you know it not fair. Be enough. It time to grow up."

Yala starts to argue, but can't get the words out, as her petulance retreats in the face of Zaljan's stare. "Yes," she finally says, her brow wrinkling as she considers his words. "Time to grow up. Yes. Of course." She sits up straighter and tries to extricate her chin from his hand. Her voice takes on a polite, formal tone. "Is there anything I can do to help us make ready for the road?"

Zaljan lets her go and shakes his head. "Jus' yourself. We take care of rest."

Yala goes to find whoever is preparing breakfast.

Taddeo had stripped to the waist, cleaned up as best he could, shaved and dressed in a new shirt. He is sitting by the fire, stirring dried fruit into the oatmeal that is almost ready.

Yala goes over and sits down near him, her eyes fixed on the oatmeal. "There were monks in Hanho that used hunger strikes to get what they wanted," she says wistfully. "I don't know why it didn't work. I suppose I will have to learn these things now that I am a grown-up."

The living oxen are slow to get up and strain under the weight of a simple yoke. The zombi ones stare off into space placidly, as is their zombi wont.

Taddeo dips out a good portion into a bowl and passes it over.

"People do strange things."

He smiles, then calls out to the others.

"Breakfast is ready."

Zaljan is busy tending to the zombi - their lack of feeling means they need more maintenance than normal animals, and Zaljan's the only one trained to know what specifically to look for to make sure they get it. Besides, the two surviving oxen are more comfortable when he's not around them.

Punchy wanders over still sniffling and takes a bowl.

"Porridge! And nae beer!"

Punchy eats, wailying into his food.