"Eh, what's that?" Kining looks up from where she's been working on sharpening a dull blade for one of the camp's fighters. The smith's hands are greasy from where they've been doused in oil, and red where she's pressed on the whetstone. She narrows her eyes, clearly irritated at being interrupted in the middle of a task. "You talk weird, you know that? And why would you give up a perfectly good tent? What do you want in exchange? Or are you just trying to scam me, is that it? The tent's broken or something, gotta be."