The word is [i]appraisal.[/i]

Jackdaw looked down at her weathered, patchwork cloak, and its varied contents: Dusty old tomes. Journals, scraps of journals, minus necessary context. A stick that could turn into a slightly bigger stick. Dried-out herbs that would [i]probably[/i] still disinfect a wound. And a tasteful variety of crunchable midnight snacks. 

Jackdaw looked back to the wand pointed up her nose.

“...are you [i]sure?”[/i]