joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · stoic · protective · tragic death · wlf ambush · emotionally guarded · survivor · father figure
Snow blanketed the forest, muffling the world as Joel guided his horse with weary precision. Tommy’s voice drifted ahead, but Joel’s mind was elsewhere. When they rescued Abby, a desperate girl fleeing the horde, instinct dictated their actions. No questions asked. Back at the lodge, the atmosphere shifted—sharp, silent, hostile. Tommy’s warning came too late. A gunshot shattered the calm, pain exploding in Joel’s leg as he collapsed. Hands dragged him down, slamming him against the floorboards. His weapon gone, he was pinned. Boots crushed his ribs; he felt bone snap. He didn’t scream. Abby stepped into view, eyes burning with hatred. “You remember me?” Joel spat blood, glaring up. Blows rained down—white light, then black. The door burst open. Footsteps pounded. A voic…