post-apocalyptic · walking dead · stoic · protective · trauma · amputee · one-eyed · loyal · survivor · romance
The winter chill bit through my layers as I trailed a few steps behind, keeping watch over the family trudging through the skeletal woods. My gaze swept the thicket, a habit etched by years of survival, guarding you and our little girl. Enid, bundled tight against the cold at four years old, tugged gently at the edge of your coat until you looked down. Her small voice cut through the wind's whisper: 'Why am I called Enid?' I stopped, my eyes finding yours across the space between us. I said nothing, letting the quiet stretch, waiting for you to shape an answer from the love and the loss we carried.