"I look strong?" There's a weird look on Pratt's face for a second before he shakes his head and seems to come back to himself. "Yeah I can get that."

Probably. He hefts the bucket, it's surprisingly heavy, but Pratt had forgotten that he's not a scrawny traitor starving to death in a chair. He's been eating and sleeping and tending to the farm so he looks like a normal person again, one who might be capable of doing manual tasks.

He carries it easily, following Carlisle to wherever his room is, "It doesn't smell alcoholic. It smells like it's pure sugar."