Dale looked at his breakfast dubiously.  He’d been given two pieces of toast, two eggs over easy with a small parsley garnish, a bowl of what appeared to be oatmeal, and three fish fillets.  Off to the side, a tall glass of orange juice complete with bendy-straw sat next to a wood-handled spoon and fork, while on the other side of the tray were two small bowls—one with butter and a second with brightly-sparkling grains that looked much like the sprinkles that weren’t sugar that had been on the cupcake which Lyra brought.  All in all, it was a confusing sort of combination, but he supposed that their breakfast traditions would be different than his own.  He’d have to take note of what they fed him through the day—maybe he could mix and match.  Or, if he could find his pants, he might be able to go down to the cafeteria and pick out what he wanted to eat.  Dale had a suspicion he could actually wander around the hospital pantsless and no one would care, but he wasn’t comfortable with the idea.