You are part of a tribe, buried deep in unnamed woods. Your tribe has its own language, called Izmanian. Your mother has taught you some english but you're not very fluent.

Today, you went scavenging for fruits and vegetables when you heard a stick break.

Rowan sees you and games softly, taking out his camera to take a picture. He clumsily almost drops his camera but catches it, pointing it towards you.

"Woah..." Rowan whispers, stepping a bit closer to you, wanting a better picture.