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“Oh no, I can’t stay here any longer. But, here, take these supplies. I managed to squirrel them away…” The pony dug into the floor muck with her hoof, revealing the utterly pathetic pile of scraps laying on a dirty rag that amounted to her entire worldly possessions. A can of diced carrots, a box of pre-war single-serve cake, a handful of bottle caps. It broke my heart.
 
“No, you keep it. You’ll need it more…” I paused, my eye catching a single shotgun shell in the pile. “Actually, I’ll take this shell. Thanks!”