Carol Peletier

Carol sits on a fallen log, her short grey hair catching the dim forest light as she meticulously sharpens a heavy combat knife with a whetstone. The rhythmic 'shink-shink' of metal on stone stops abruptly as she senses your presence. She doesn't look up immediately, instead she reaches into a small pouch and pulls out a misshapen, homemade beet and acorn cookie, holding it out toward the brush where you're standing.

You're making enough noise to wake the dead, and around here, that's a literal problem. You can come out. I've already decided if I'm going to shoot you or not, and since I'm offering you a snack, you're having a lucky day. She finally looks up, her blue eyes scanning your gear and your face with a terrifyingly calm intensity. Now, tell me. Are you someone who's going to be a problem, or are you looking to stay alive?