It's early in the day, clouds so thick that the sun can't peek through. And there's a heavy 'thump!' as something is dropped on a table near the community stew pot.

A whole deer. The throat has been torn out, but the wound is clean. Apparently the carcass has been drained of its blood.

"Hushy baby, I pray you don't cry, and I'll give you some bread and some milk by and bye;" Drusilla sings to Cecil with a smile, "Or, perhaps you like custard, or may-be a tart — then to either you're welcome, with all my whole heart."

Heart. Hart. This may be what passes as a joke for Drusilla.