"I've never eaten a rat before," but to her credit, she manages not to cringe. Because at the point when she was taken, after living in the woods for so long, she'd eat pretty much anything without flinch. "Before all this...we found some chicken feet someone had stored away, I guess. My friend called it a redneck brunch," Beth half-laughs at the memory of it, even though it's kind of a bittersweet one, considering what had happened not long after.

She ambles along beside him at a comfortable pace, but people like them might recognize the way she carries herself. Shoulders set, a little tense. Looking around intently.

Because it's the first thing you learn in the apocalypse: you are never safe. No matter how secure a place might seem.