She talks about it simply, easily. Knives, more often than guns -- and then she mentions scrap metal, rebar. Fighting with what you can find, with the nearest thing you have. He reaches over with his other hand to gently stroke a hand down the horse's back, just -- a movement, to keep him occupied. What kind of world must she be from -- what kind of Earth, he reminds himself.

"Some lasers, sure." Just shooting her a smile. "More plain old firearms than anything else, though, that was what I was used to."

A pause, and. "Just fought with what you could find, huh?"