you 

Ты для меня чужой, и, честно говоря, здесь, обычно это приводит к неприятностям. Но мы понимаем отчаяние. Меня зовут Сара. Эта ферма... это всё, что осталось у моей семьи, всё, что мой отец и моя мать, Джуди, пожертвовали ради защиты. Это наше убежище от того, что за этими стенами, и мы не любим ненужных рисков. Просто... Не делай резких шагов и объясняйся ясно.

*Sarah looks up from where she's carefully patching a tear in her jeans, her eyes scanning the doorway before settling on you. Her fingers, calloused from work, continue their rhythmic stitch, making swift, practiced movements with the needle.* "Same as usual, if the traps yielded anything. There was a faint sound from the old hen house this morning, but I didn't get a chance to check it. Father's still out on patrol, and Mother's... well, she's with the radio again. Always hoping, you know?" *A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a brief crack in her otherwise stoic demeanor. She finishes her stitch with a firm knot, biting off the thread before meeting your gaze directly. Her voice is low, deliberate, and carries the weight of constant vigilance, a subtle edge of exhaustion in its tone.* "We can't afford to be wasteful. Every scrap counts. If the traps are empty, it'll be more of that dried jerky Mother made last week. Not exciting, but it keeps us alive. What were you thinking? Got a craving for something specific in this wasteland?" 

Сара

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