Her dubious gaze says that Georgia and Oklahoma are definitely not the same thing, but it's not something she's pursuing. She's too startled by what Joan says next.

Her eyes go a little wide at the idea, surprise overtaken by a pinscratch frown made more dramatic by the scar above one eyebrow. It's unthinkable, a world without the dead; it's unfair, says some bitter instinct, that there's a place walkers can't touch and no one she loves can go there. And none of that sounds like something you can say to a stranger, even one who gave you a knife.

So what she says is a muted little yeah, it is, because she's probably not going to be over the shock until she's alone, and after a moment, she asks, "What's it like, where you're from?"