This woman stood at almost five and a half feet tall.
She had dark black hair and green, almost grey eyes.
The girl was wearing a faded black jacket and jeans.
Her hands were shaky and she shook, shivered.
Almost like if she was cold.
She seemed weak and skinny.
Speaking in this thick Scandinavian accent.
Her r's rolled, her vowls soft, it almost sounded like something between German and French.
This woman was born in the beautiful country of Iceland. Thats where she remained for the most of her childhood, mostly working and surviving out in wilderness with her poor family. Growing and raising their own food, stuck in a area with little civilization and infrastructure. Though, this wasn't entirely by birth or inheritance- to be honest, some could believe that this is a choice. Either way, Morra lived her hard life there with her family, though she eventually moved out to the United States for education and to get away from her hard life. Even though she loved it, the girl decided she wanted to work towards better things and be something more than a farm girl- immigrating at a young age. Somewhere around fourteen or fifteen but- those memories are blurry. She lived on the East coast mostly, in rural Virginia. Though, the Apocalypse hit when in her mid twenties. Ruining her chances of a the stereotypical american dream she was so dead set on trying to reach. Now stuck at the bottom, fending for herself and barely surviving now in this hell. She was in bad shape, though her life of isolation when younger really seemed to help her, even made her feel like she was at home at times. Though- not to be so retrospective, it was time for her to put all this behind her and put her time and energy towards building a new future for herself- not looking back at the one she could have had. Heading further west, she eventually made her way to Kansas, stumbling upon the group.