She returns with a strong beer, and some form of heated punch that reeks of whatever alcohol the commissary added to it-- Ale, perhaps, by the smell, aided by apples, oranges, cinnamon and clove-- rise up from the heated drink, which she keeps her hands and warms them with.

Until, at last, she stares at her drink, and raises the glass, and says, "To your health, to our fangs, and..."

Her teeth begin to chatter, and she barely gets out, "t-t-to all-l-l the people who we ss-s-s-s-houldn't have had to bury."

She still waits, shivering, for Oki's response.