France is crushing wild berries in his stone bowl, mashing them with a rock, intent on making jam or a sauce. England approaches, looking a bit tired and sweaty.

England: "Hey, France, do you have any idea where those woolly mammoths have gone off to?"

France wrinkles his nose in disgust.

France: "Those big hairy beasts? Ugh, I wouldn't touch them with a ten-foot pole. Can't you find some other sort of game instead?"