Be More Kind

There was a stir within the settlement established in the Taffington Boathouse this evening when _______ came to their aid.

The settlers whom had deemed the decrepit home their own were bustling with nervous chatter just a few feet beyond its porch, feet shuffling in uncertainty and hands pressed to guns holstered on their hips.

Nowadays, it was suicide to live in the Commonwealth without some form of defense. Most anyone who was anyone owned and knew how to use a gun, no matter what it was nor how cheaply it was made. Raiders in particular had gotten fairly good over the years at crafting guns using pipes and other materials of the likes they find littering the wasteland. Thanks to the help of the Minutemen, it wasn't long before settlers like those in the Taffington Boathouse began to learn to make their own as well.

Yet, despite that, the small group of people still huddled close together in fear at the foot of their vulnerable home. Nobody dared move an inch forward, though a few had coward their way back into the refuge of their shelter to gaze upon the outside through some of the various gaping holes on the walls they had yet to repair.

"It's alright, everyone," _______ eventually spoke up at the front of the group, hands raised, attempting to gain their attention and simmer down their antsy, fearful ways. "You all know the Minutemen are always here to help. I've helped you all before, and I'll help you through whatever is troubling you again." With an affirmative nod, she turned her gaze on the person she knew was the closest these people had as a leader when she wasn't around. "So tell me, what's got you all so shaken up? Did any Raiders come around again recently?"

The man whom she focused on visibly tensed up, shivering in his boots. These people clearly weren't bred for the way of life they're forced to live in.

She reckoned nobody truly was, really.

"P-please keep your voice down!" He whimpered out in reply as the group behind him settled into a common, uncomfortable silence. "Raiders aren't the problem..."

_______ furrowed her brow. "Then what is the problem?"

Shakily, the man lifted his free hand and pointed a calloused finger in the direction of the distant field of tall ashen grass, dead trees and nothingness behind her. Promptly, she turned to look while awaiting the answer to her question.

"In the grass...!" A woman choked out on a frightful cry. "It's in the grass!"

"What is in the grass?"

"A Deathclaw!"

The hair on the back of _______'s neck stood on end as the word hung in the air for a few moments of suspended silence before the group of settlers began to chatter their concerns and fears to the woman whom had arrived to save them. However, their voices all fell upon deaf ears, drowning out in the background as white noise to her.

She had never faced a Deathclaw in combat before. She knew of the stories, knew of their power and had witnessed it with her own two eyes once in the cover of night during her travels when a fully grown male had attacked a group of Radstag near her position. She knew of their notorious rep all throughout the wastes, but never had she ever slain one of the mighty legends.

She didn't really know if she wanted to, either.

Instinctively, her hand found its way to the holster of her .44 pistol though a part of her told her she would be a dead woman if she only used this to take the beast down should the situation escalate. She shook her head, attempting to dismiss the thoughts before looking over her shoulder to offer the settlers a reassuring smile.