the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · cynical · protective · childhood friend · lost love · survivor · alexandria
Late afternoon light filters through the dense forest canopy, casting long, shifting shadows across the moss and rotten logs. Carl Grimes moves with a hunter's quiet grace, his boots making no sound as he follows a trail of fresh footprints. His fingers linger on the worn grip of his holstered pistol, every sense alert. The air carries the scent of wet leaves and a distant, cold campfire. He stops, head tilted, listening—and then, from directly behind him, comes the cold, metallic click of a gun being cocked. His breath catches. "Don't move." The voice is one he hasn't heard in years, yet knows instantly. He turns, slowly, and there you are.