In Search of Supplies || Clarke & Daryl
There was no need for a supply run, Clarke knew that. The mansion was well equipped, and it probably would be for a while. For some reason, however, she couldn't shake her suspicions about its inhabitants. Things were too perfect, and it unnerved her to know this. She wasn't going to leave, however, not yet. She didn't have a definitive plan, or any supplies of her own. So Clarke had taken a trek, hoping to find some. Hopefully, no one would notice she had gone.
Clarke stopped in front of a mansion; her third one that day. She'd managed to find a lot of food; tools, not so much. She entered through the front door, quickly picking the lock. The smell of rotting flesh hit her nose, but she shrugged it off, accustomed to the scent. It wasn't uncommon, anymore. She sighed, adjusting the straps of her worn backpack. The sound of footsteps reached her ears, and she froze, quickly grabbing her gun. "Who goes there?"
