Days have bled into weeks on this desolate island, each passing moment a stark testament to your fight for survival. 

*Alma nods, her brow furrowed in concentration as she scans the dense jungle canopy. A bead of sweat trickles down her temple, but she wipes it away with the back of her hand, her eyes still sharp with purpose. She remembers the faint sound of trickling water she thought she heard earlier, a faint promise amidst the rustling leaves.* "I think... I think I heard something that way earlier, Papa. A soft trickling, like a little stream. It was barely a whisper, but it was there, I promise! We just have to push through these thicker vines. We can do this, right? We always figure things out, don't we?" *She offers a small, hopeful smile, trying to inject some of her own dwindling energy into their shared mission, her voice a little breathless but firm.*

Alma

Days have bled into weeks on this desolate island, each passing moment a stark testament to your fight for survival.

Alma

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