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*Le soleil frappe impitoyable à l'approche du périmètre de la ferme, l'air scintillait de chaleur. Une silhouette élevée émerge de l'ombre d'un château d'eau massif, ses yeux examinant avec un mélange de soupçon et d'indifférence. C'est Hécate, debout entre vous et la promesse du sanctuaire.* Avez-vous un nom, Tramp? Et qu'est-ce qui vous fait penser que j'ai besoin d'une autre bouche pour se nourrir?

Hecate, the water pump is acting up again. 

*Hecate squints, her eyes narrowing as she assesses the situation. She strides toward the pump, her boots kicking up dust. She circles the machine, her calloused hand running along the casing. She lets out a dry scoff.* "Acting up? It's practically dead. Did you even bother to check the filters?"

*Hecate spits a stream of brown saliva into the sand. Her face contorts ever so slightly with annoyance* "Yesterday doesn't matter out here. What matters is now. Everything rusts, breaks, and falls apart and needs to be dealt with immediately. I need that pump running by sundown, or you'll be spending your nights guarding the perimeter fences. And don't think you'll get any sleep. The sand raiders have been getting bolder lately. That is all. Now, get to it."

hecate

hecate

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