Listening to his descriptions, Owl decided right then and there that if she survived this, she was never going to touch meat again.
"Oh..." she said, and wasn't sure what else to say to that. "That's...that's pleasant. Good to know."
Trying to ignore the box of entrails the other goblin had set aside, Owl took hold of both of Smed's hands and labored to her feet. She wobbled, her legs weak with a combination of weariness, pain, and nerves, and just about knocked the two goblins over in the process. Thankfully, her crutch was on the ground near her--how considerate of the goblin masses, to carry that for her--and still gripping onto Smed, she grit her teeth, bent, and retrieved it.
She tucked it under her arm and took a shaky breath. "N-not that you care what I think, but I still think this is...wasteful," she said, staring at the tent and jumping at the sounds of chopping. "Smed, I'm no good to you dead. I mean, sure, I'm good for a meal, that's true, but you don't seem to be lacking in, er...meat." Her mind raced, and she knew she was grasping at straws, but what other choice did she have?
"You've only known me...what? Barely a day. And...and we've had a lot of fun already, right?" Well, he had, at least. "If I die, you're gonna lose me without ever knowing what else I could offer."