Ruth chuckles softly, knowing without a doubt there's truth in what Noa says. Half a dozen Hounds will claim the feat and the truth will be lost in the shuffle. Seems like there's never a bit of gossip that starts at one end of camp that isn't unrecognizable by the time it gets to the other end, like an enormous game of telephone. "Good thing the carnival only lasts one night, or we'd have all of them trying their luck, wanting to cash in on the glory."
The idea of actually adding to the stories herself is one that hasn't crossed Ruth's mind before now, and after a moment's thought she adds, "Say he hung upside down from one of the supports like a gymnast on the high bar. But no, they don't need the encouragement. Too tall a tale and there's bound to be a copycat who gets hurt because of it." Get a little moonshine in them, throw in a prospect looking to make an impression or a patch trying to show up a buddy, and you've got a recipe for disaster.
"Luckily, no one's come in yet looking for medical supplies beyond your normal hangover remedies. Means at least no one hurt themselves too bad while they were drinking." She glances over her shoulder, as if she could see from here the shelves that house the boxes brought back from the raids on the UMCB's trucks. It takes up a fair bit of space, those supplies, but Ruth would rather they did than for there to be a need for any of it.