But all of Lyra’s food was prepared. Except for the carrot she gave me the first time and the celery sticks. And the apple, I suppose. Those aren’t things that we generally prepare, though. Nobody but a hippie would eat wheat straight from the stalk. His breakfast had consisted of mostly familiar foods, and Lyra had gotten the same thing. Except for the fish. It was so confusing; every little thing was just different enough to knock him off-balance.