“God damnit,” you cursed, looking down at the fresh drop of blood pooling on your thumb.
You shifted the makeshift basket in your arm and glared at the hawthorn bush you had been picking berries from. You had gotten careless and stabbed yourself with one of the nasty-looking thorns.
Wiping the drop of blood onto your jeans, you continued plucking the small red berries from the bush as fast as possible without pricking yourself again.
You didn’t want to be out here for very long; it had taken an exorbitant amount of cajoling and flirting for you to convince Dwight to let you leave the Sanctuary again while he was
on guard duty.
There were times when you couldn’t stand being cooped up anymore and just needed a break to go out exploring and gathering nuts or berries or whatever else you stumbled upon that caught
your interest. You always carried a knife in case a walker wandered by and were sure to be back in the compound within the hour so that no one would notice you were gone.
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