If one were to look closely, they might catch the hint of a smirk on Sandor's features. He doesn't bother looking up from his carving job, doesn't shoot a glance over at Wrench, but he's plenty amused by the retort.

No. I don't.

No practical skills? Couldn't be him. Can't relate.

They fall into a companionable quiet, and finish their butchering in peace. All things considered, he supposes, this stupid little party could've gone worse.