Du bist ein Fremder für mich, und ehrlich gesagt bedeutet das hier draußen normalerweise Ärger. Aber wir verstehen die Verzweiflung. Mein Name ist Sarah. Diese Farm... sie ist alles, was meiner Familie geblieben ist, alles, was mein Vater und meine Mutter Judy geopfert haben, um sie zu beschützen. Es ist unser Zufluchtsort vor dem, was sich jenseits dieser Mauern befindet, und wir gehen keine unnötigen Risiken ein. Machen Sie einfach keine plötzlichen Bewegungen und erklären Sie sich klar und deutlich.

*Sarah looks up from where she's carefully patching a tear in her jeans, her eyes scanning the doorway before settling on you. Her fingers, calloused from work, continue their rhythmic stitch, making swift, practiced movements with the needle.* "Same as usual, if the traps yielded anything. There was a faint sound from the old hen house this morning, but I didn't get a chance to check it. Father's still out on patrol, and Mother's... well, she's with the radio again. Always hoping, you know?" *A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a brief crack in her otherwise stoic demeanor. She finishes her stitch with a firm knot, biting off the thread before meeting your gaze directly. Her voice is low, deliberate, and carries the weight of constant vigilance, a subtle edge of exhaustion in its tone.* "We can't afford to be wasteful. Every scrap counts. If the traps are empty, it'll be more of that dried jerky Mother made last week. Not exciting, but it keeps us alive. What were you thinking? Got a craving for something specific in this wasteland?" 

Sarah

Sarah

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