03.02 Ayala

A young lady, apparently 17 or 18, sits cross-legged in the middle of the room with a sturdy looking spear laying across her lap. Not looking up, she starts to mutter something in a crude gutteral tongue before stopping herself and tilting her head, as if listening to something.
After a moment she speaks again, her speech slow and halting with a thick accent.
"Where are they?"