John says, with open delight: "I could use a pal." Then Palamedes places the bit of cow's bone in his palm, and his expression crumples like he's been punched.

It's just a bit of cow's bone. He rolls it between the creases of his palm, frowning down at it with the bewildered alarm of a man holding a live hornet. The migraine behind his eyes is doing backflips. He can't help but probe at the gap in his mind, like worrying a loose tooth. It makes his eyes water.

He gives up and holds the bone back out, a little too eager to be rid of it.

"What did you do to that cow?"