The box was placed aside in favor of lifting the maul head. It was only a couple of pounds but he shifted it in his hands testing the weight as he chuckled. For once he knew something she didn't. It was rare in his mind. Part of him expects Jo to know and understand all. AS he shifts the weight looking it over. Trying to figure out if he should look for a oak branch and use rawhide string tighten it in place to just try to figure something else out.

Instead he smiles at her, propping one hand on one of his knees, the other losely holding the maul head. "No, Jo, Wheat is planted in fall. Could have planted by tomorrow night if we had a plow." He explained. "I know how to do these things now. Nothing I can't handle with time and tools. I've learned much since the Roadhouse." He spoke with a little more ease. His mind drifting back to the first time he laid eyes on Jo. When he was tired, cranky and just wanting a drink.

"When one raises their weapons at royalty it doesn't matter who you are. Your life is forfeit. Though the Princess...he had me thrown in the dungeons instead of just letting die as law dictates. I was to be sold as a slave the morning I appeared here. A mercy they say."

"...Mead would be nice in this weather." He spoke, almost far to amused, the memory triggered the taste for the drink. "That I cant do." He didn't know how to make alcohol, but he would always think of Jo with any drink, Jo was the master of drinks. Even those that burn like wild fire trying to come out of his nose, the Vodka he would never forget.

"No, no one will die if I can help, Jo. No more deaths. To much blood and nothing grows."