She lifts her head and nods. Were her eyes just the tiniest bit teared up? Maybe, but she takes a deep breath, purses her mouth, and fixes her posture. She's not going to argue any longer against someone who's clearly the expert, here.

"I can try," she says, decidedly more confident than what she said previously. She takes a wider stance, scrunches up her fists, and starts punching the air.

"Pitchfork! Hoe! Shovel!"

She starts out quieter, but gradually her farmer war cries grow in volume as her determination grows. And with each added decibel, the surge of power flowing to her fists gets stronger. The magic is not visible, but at some point it's easy to tell that while the punches are not proper in form by any means, the latter ones would hurt a lot more.