He looks up again at the question, noticing the bladed weapon in Tim's hand. Lucky fool. Despite the thought, though, Damian doesn't complain. He didn't need weapons. (Even if they were awesome and amazing and ugh, you have no idea how much he missed his weapons from home.) He simply shakes his head.

"Not soft enough, but you can try." He had a few small knives, but nothing like that blade, so at least it was something different. It might be pointless, but they only had so much to work with, and as much fun as it is to rain on Tim's parade, he won't do it this time. Damian was willing to try anything at this point. He'd even considered trying to just slip through the bars, even though it was clear from a glance that the space was too small. He wasn't losing it or anything—he's fine. But the futility of the situation was more than a little frustrating, to say the least.

Giant sandworms hadn't really helped, either. Damian had seen people eaten by them and had to deal with trying to avoid them himself, too. Tim makes it quite clear that it's not a good subject for him, but that doesn't stop Damian from opening his mouth anyway. It's nothing personal, really. It's a matter of normalcy. (...not that it matters much when it's an insult, but you know.) He speaks again as he moves to the other side of the cave to double-check.

"Afraid of a few worms, Drake?"