Her jaw hangs open again, the skin around her eyes crinkling up a little. "I replaced the one I ate," she points out. Her voice is still deadpan but-- it's possible it's always that way? Certainly she hasn't been very emotive thus far.

She follows his gaze down to her belt, then looks back up with a flick of her tongue. "Dagger or throwing knife, yes. Working knife?" Which is what she's assuming he's asking about. "Only this one."

She plants the knife in her hand tip-down in the wooden work surface so that it stands upright. Long and thin-bladed, perfect for butchering, begins to revert to a more utilitarian size and shape.