"I think..." Tapping her chin with her finger as she draws the last vowel out a little, seemingly engrossed with the business of sizing up the almost-tree.

"The one on the left." Aerith nods decisively. "You're really good with that knife, I think you might be able to get it just right." As she speaks her hands move absently, arms curving and arranging themselves to try and resemble sprawling tree limbs - an attempt to illustrate her definition of what just right might look like, as lighthearted and carefree as a person who hasn't been glowered at by a tremendous, tremendously strong man.