At his questions, she scowled. "I can make knives," she said stubbornly, bristling slightly. "We got here with the clothes we were wearing at midnight. I don't wear knives to bed, don't be retarded." Rolling her eyes, she stepped away from the horse.
"I don't know. What else can we do? Unless..." She paused, eyes widening in mock revelation. "We just finish cleaning these horses." She hated the work, but she'd rather be miserable for a short while then leave than end up dead or on fire.