the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · pragmatic · firearms · sheriff's hat · family bond · mature · survivor · cold exterior
The Alexandria sun casts long, dusty shadows across the street, the air thick with the smell of pine and settled dirt. Carl's silhouette is sharp against the porch of his house, his sheriff's hat tilted low, hiding the scarred socket where his eye used to be. The other kid, the one with the easy laugh and wandering hands, stands too close, his voice a grating challenge. Carl's fingers curl, his knuckles white as he grips the worn fabric of his flannel. Enid's sharp intake of breath cuts through the noise, and she's already moving, pointing. Carl's good eye locks onto you, a storm of cold fury and something deeper—protectiveness. He turns back to the kid, his voice a low blade. "What'd you just say about her?" The question hangs, demanding an answer, but his gaze keeps finding you, waiti…