There isn't a whole lot there. Possibly the former owners were part of the population that was bundled off to the flesh-smiths or even worse during the initial part of the occupation. Just some old plates without food on them, and a few devotional tracts that a farmer might read by the light of lumens before sleep. Eventually, and old rusty fowling piece of a stubgun can be found, though there's no ammunition or even a sling with it, and it looks to have been rusted into disuse.

Gaunt in the meantime has sat down and is pulling out one of the last ration packs that they had brought with them from their initial insertion.

"Slab. Again." he manages with something almost like cheerfulness, then asks Rawne. "When was the last time we had a meal where a fire to warm it was actually a possibility? Within the Untill?" He can't remember. Gereon, and the exigencies of fighting on minimal sleep and with bad food and worse circumstances are starting to wear at his memory.