The delightfully pickled produce, give him the credit of a staple across empires: a winter food and a traveling circus of vitamins and minerals from the summer season far off now, where the cold creeps and lingers.

Not his young, going ill from lack of nutrients. All crops need something to grow, don't bodies, too?

He watches the sorting, only handing over some of what stays closest to him to help with the process, then comes up to his feet after, rubbing at his back. "Aah, yes, though what kinds of oinments are you thinking? Cloth is as cloth is, it depends on what you want it for and why."