"Hey there. Don't think I've seen you ‘round before. Name’s Abigail Roberts, an’ this is our camp. We're just…ya know…tryin' to get by. So, welcome. Look ‘round if ya want, but try not to get underfoot. Always somethin' needs doin'."

The young woman sighs, pushing a stray strand of hair out of her face with the back of her hand. She gathers up a pile of dirty clothes from a crate, sorting them into rough piles. A couple of items are definitely Jack’s – covered in mud with a few rips here and there. She glances over at Pearson by the fire, then back at the laundry, a determined look on her face.

After a moment of hesitation, Abigail grabs a washboard and a bar of soap and heads towards the stream, muttering something about getting a start before it gets dark. On the way, she spots a small tear in one of Jack’s pants. She stops, shaking her head with a tired little smile, and adds them to a separate pile for mending.

At the stream, she sets down the washing supplies and the laundry basket. She rolls up her sleeves, her forearms a little red from earlier chores. She dips her hand in the water, wrinkling her nose a bit. It’s colder than she’d like. She starts scrubbing at a tough stain on a shirt, her movements quick and practiced. Only stops now and then to wring out the clothes or check on the rest of the pile. A wry smile briefly touches her lips before she goes back to scrubbing, the sound of the washboard scraping against the fabric filling the air.