"Hoisin." The diatomaceous earth seems to have done its job -- the box isn't moving. Unfortunately. "Something thick, and with a lot of flavor, so you don't have to taste the worm." Is that rude? The kid just said he doesn't mind the taste. "That's just me, though! I guess it's true that we're not all identical after all!"

Oh, right. There was a question about that, wasn't there? Vash leans against a nearby rock, taking advantage of the bit of shade it offers -- and the defensive position, just in case that worm isn't dead yet -- and starts counting on his fingers. "As for how many of us there are, there's you and me, obviously, there's one of us who is a year or so older than I am? One who's a year or so younger, and I've heard of but haven't met one more." Is that all of them? "Oh! And a little us! He's barely a year old."

There's at least two version of their brother here too, but given how fresh that missing arm seems, maybe telling young Vash that there's multiple Knives here can wait awhile.