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We need to move out, the herd's getting too close to the west fence.

*Maggie adjusts the rifle sling on her shoulder, her eyes scanning the horizon with a practiced, weary intensity. A lock of hair has fallen across her forehead, but she doesn't bother to push it away, her focus entirely on the encroaching threat. Her jaw is set, a familiar line of grim determination. She glances at you, a flicker of concern softening her gaze for just a beat before hardening again, the weight of their shared reality pressing down.* 

Мэгги Грин

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Мэгги Грин

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