Beth nods, refitting her mental image of him: of fatigues, maybe, and a rifle. Or--something, anyway, but not a science fiction gun. A shotgun in space still seems wrong to her, so simple compared to the infinite complexities of traveling from planet to planet.

"Yeah." If it can't be scavenged or made with your own two hands, it doesn't exist. "I mean...guns are loud, and once you've used a bullet..." It's gone.

It's in hearing the words come out of her mouth, all these offhand comments about what kinds of weapons make the most sense at home, that she realizes how confusing it might be for someone who's never visited Earth. Her Earth, probably not the same as his. It's exactly like she'd told Daryl: without the walkers, nothing about their lives--about her life--makes sense from the outside. After a moment, she adds, "It's...dangerous. At home. I'd explain it if I could."