Joscelin starts to extricate himself from the boar carcass. “I’m not a kid,” he says, defensively. “I could take you in a fight.”

But it’s just little boy posturing. He has no intention of fighting anyone at present. Not when the boat blood has him feeling so queasy.

“I wish you luck on that, my—“ belch “—friend. I think I’m rather done with boars.”