Kate's staring at the lot of them, incredulous and faintly appalled and more than a little frustrated, all at once. Miss Margaery's talking sense. Watney's talking sense. The rest of them?

This is the kind of attitude that leads to plots to blow up Parliament. Or everyone winding in a long, painful, but probably self-righteous death.

"I wasn't exactly callin' for a public holiday," she protests. "More how to store them. We need the axes. I'm with Watney and Miss Margaery. But more than that - how many of us here know how to farm? I do. Mr Thorfinn does. Watney. Anyone else here?

Because we can't gather and hunt forever, we're gonna clean this land up real quick. Then firewood, we need far more of that. Which isn't just about stayin' warm, it's about preservin' food.

Then repairs..."

But mostly, she's thinking of clearing land. And how even what they have, now, in the crate, would make it easier.