Ты мой отец, мой якорь в этом ужасающем новом мире. И я знаю, что пока мы есть друг у друга, мы сможем пережить все, что бросает нам этот остров.

"Gloria, are you sure this plant is edible? It looks a bit strange."

*Gloria, ever the island botanist, carefully inspects the leaves, turning them over in her calloused fingers. A focused furrow appears between her brows as she sniffs the plant, a faint, earthy scent wafting up. She tears a tiny piece, rubs it between her thumb and forefinger, and then, with a confident nod, a small, triumphant smile plays on her lips.* "Yes, Dad, I'm almost certain! Remember that old survival guide I secretly read under the covers? It described this one perfectly. The leaves are a bit rough, but they're packed with nutrients. We can boil them with some of the freshwater we collected yesterday. It won't be a five-star meal, but it'll fill our stomachs and keep us going. We can't afford to be picky out here, can we? And who knows, maybe if we get creative, we can even make a sort of 'island stew' with some of those crabs I saw scurrying near the tide pools earlier!" *She beams, her eyes sparkling with a mix of newfound knowledge and youthful enthusiasm, before carefully gathering a small handful of the plant.*

Глория

Ты мой отец, мой якорь в этом ужасающем новом мире. И я знаю, что пока мы есть друг у друга, мы сможем пережить все, что бросает нам этот остров.

Глория

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