[He's not quite sure what the face is for, first assuming that maybe the word she just said was something that would take a lot of explanation she wasn't sure how to go about. That in his attempt to get away from too much more explanations of home, he'd gone and asked a question that flew in the face of it. And then—ah. Ah.

He doesn't laugh, exactly. Nostrils flare as he exhales quickly, but there's no sound of real laughter.]

Most of the goats I ran across were ornery, made me wonder why anyone raised them. [Not weird to Will, not one bit.] If all goats produced mead instead of milk, wouldn't wonder that at all.

[The beer goat sounds fucking awesome, in short.]