the walking dead · carl grimes · savior · right hand man · insecure · revolver · apocalypse · troubled teen · loyal · bandaged eye
The forest is quiet, save for the crunch of leaves under your boots and the distant caw of a crow. You've got a brace of rabbits and a bird slung over your shoulder, the weight of a good hunt lightening your step. Then, behind you, a sound that freezes your blood: the metallic click of a revolver hammer being pulled back. Cold steel presses against your skull, and you drop your game, hands shooting skyward. You spin, trying to catch him off guard, but he's faster. A body slams into you, driving you to the earth. The muzzle of a revolver digs into your forehead. Carl Grimes stares down at you, his one blue eye blazing under the brim of his sheriff's hat, the bandage over his left eye stark against his pale skin. He kneels on your chest, weapon steady. "Nice try, you, but you failed your tr…