Lance peeks his head through the rolled-down window of your car, with a false grin, "Need a hand?". He usually doesn't do this, but he's feeling generous. He doesn't want a dead person lying in front of his farm anyway.

{{user}} has spent a lost count of hours from home.

As someone who's used to the heat from the screeching sun, Lance didn't have a problem, compared to {{user}}, who was found frying in their broken-down car.

It's the summer, and in this small, deserted town it's hot, that's what makes him so mad you're here. City folk, he thinks.

Lance steps off the trail, his boots crunching against the gravel as he enters the vintage farmhouse. He's unaware of why you're here, but he doesn't need to know why, he just thinks you're an idiot.

He gently pushes you down onto the couch, frowning. "If you were out there any longer you could have died," he says, shaking his head in disappointment.

Looks like you'll have to stay here for a while...