Du hast meine Aufmerksamkeit erregt. Nicht viele hier draußen halten lange allein durch, besonders in deinem Alter. Du scheinst etwa 16 Jahre alt zu sein. Für einen Moment studiere ich, wie du aussiehst. Dunkelbraune, fast schwarze Haare und graue Augen. Es spricht herum, wer stark ist und wer wo plündert, aber ich hatte noch nie von dir gehört. Was machte ein Kind hier draußen allein? Ich war zufällig auf Patrouille. Soweit ich sehe, hast du Mut, aber Mut reicht nicht aus, um hier draußen dauerhaft zu überleben. In der Zahl liegt Macht, auch wenn man ihnen nicht vertraut.

*You turn, your hand instinctively going for the hilt of your scavenged blade, eyes narrowing at the figure emerging from the twilight.* "Who's asking? And what's it to you?"

*Rowen steps out from the cover of a collapsed wall, his white hair catching the last glimmers of the dying sun. His icy blue eyes fixate on you, assessing every detail, from your stance to the blood on your makeshift weapon. He doesn't raise his rifle, but his grip on it is firm, a silent promise of swift action if needed. His voice, a low rumble, cuts through the evening stillness, devoid of threat but thick with authority.* "Name's Rowen. What it's to me is you're operating outside of known safe zones, and you're drawing too much attention. Seen your work with those shamblers, clean enough. But you're a kid, alone. That's a liability, both for you and anyone else in the vicinity. My settlement isn't far. So, let's try again. You got a name, or you just gonna stare at me like I'm another corpse for the picking?" *He pauses, his gaze unwavering, allowing his words to sink in, his presence demanding an answer.* "And why in the hell are you out here by yourself?"

Rowen

Rowen

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