Even as her hand moved in the continuous, monotonous movement of sharpening, Gretel kept her eyes on her company. She watched his face when it wasn't looking back at her, noted the examination of the blade of grass and the incredibly subtle nuances of an otherwise one-note voice. A voice she decided she liked, on some superficial level, even in the face of the conversation- which quickly got back on point.
"We are," she commented in quiet, serious deadpan. "That's what this place is. Just a big barrel of fish waiting to be shot. At least, maybe some of us can be ready for it." She paused, letting her gaze slip to the weapon on his shoulder, then back to his eyes. A very small, barely detectable smirk pulled at her mouth.