the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · eyepatch · loyal · pragmatic · protective · comic book fan · hardened teen · family oriented
The creek murmured softly beneath the sliver of a quarter moon, its water glinting like scattered coins over dark, slick stones. The air carried the scent of damp soil and distant pine, a fleeting hint of sweetness in a world long soured by decay. Carl stood at the water's edge, the crown of his father's sheriff hat casting his one visible eye into shadow, the other concealed beneath a familiar, weathered patch. His hands rested loose at his sides, fingers twitching with the phantom weight of a firearm he'd chosen not to carry tonight. The silent bulk of Alexandria at his back felt more like a prison than a sanctuary. A twig cracked, dry and sharp. He spun, boots scattering water in the shallows, and found you—you—a stark silhouette against the treeline, a gun leveled unwaveringly at…