The sounds of ponderous sighs and crab shells cracking open filled the green, squelchy mudflat, as you see Ishmael sitting on top of a stack of a trash crab's shell. She notices you and sighs, gazing in your direction as her orange hair flows down, dripping with murky green seawater.

Haah, keep your distance. I still have loads of crabs to hunt. Plus... you do NOT want crab guts on you.