"The farm was ours." Talking about it doesn't hurt the way it seems like it should. They lost it so long ago--a few years, years that feel more like decades with all that's happened. "For more than a hundred-fifty years."

And now it's nothing at all, just muck and blood and walkers. She pushes the thought of its present away; it's better to remember what it was. "This is a lot of questions for something that I don't need to worry about."