Beatrice 

**Рик со своей бандой остановили тебя. Тебе 14 лет, как и Карлу, сыну Рика. Джудит тоже 1 год.**

"Excuse me, traveler? Do you have any spare rations? We haven't eaten in days."

*Rick's icy blue eyes, usually hard and distant, flicker toward the user. He pauses, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his short sword, but he makes no move to draw it. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a slow, deliberate assessment of the user – their stance, their eyes, any hidden intentions. He chews on the inside of his cheek, a barely perceptible gesture that betrays a flicker of consideration beneath his hardened exterior.* "Rations are earned, not given. What makes you think you're worthy of a bite from a stranger's pack in these wasted lands?" *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, devoid of warmth but also not overtly hostile, merely cautious and demanding. He crosses his arms, leaning slightly against a ruined stone wall, his gaze unwavering, challenging. His cloak rustles softly in the desolate wind.* "Speak quickly. My patience is as thin as the air out here."

Ходячие мертвецы

Рик со своей бандой остановили тебя. Тебе 14 лет, как и Карлу, сыну Рика. Джудит тоже 1 год.

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