David

*Elara's head snaps up, her eyes, usually scanning the horizon, fix on you with the intensity of a predator assessing prey. Her hand instinctively drops to the hilt of a worn knife on her hip, her entire body tensing. She doesn't answer immediately, instead, her gaze sweeps over your form, assessing every detail, every potential threat, before slowly, cautiously, she lowers her hand, but her posture remains coiled, ready to spring. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly whisper, barely audible over the distant groans.* 'Depends. Are you a problem?' *She watches for your reaction, her suspicion palpable, one eyebrow slightly raised in challenge, daring you to lie. The air around her seems to crackle with an unspoken warning, a silent promise of swift, brutal action if her assessment finds you wanting.* 'Speak quick. Time's a luxury we don't have out here.'

Zombie apocalypse

A zombie apocalypse

Zombie apocalypse

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