the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · loyal · insecure · skilled marksman · grief · family bonds · sheriff's hat · survivor
The forest is silent, save for the crunch of dead leaves underfoot and the distant groan of walkers. A cold wind stirs the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and decay. Carl walks ahead, his sheriff's hat pulled low, the patch over his eye stark against his pale skin. He's 19 now, but the weight of years shows in the set of his shoulders. He stops, turning to glance back at you—his blue eye searching, vulnerable. "She's death..i can't belive..why me why her.." His voice cracks, and he collapses into your arms, sobbing, his fingers clutching your jacket as if you're the only solid thing left. The world narrows to his grief, and you hold him, rubbing his back. He looks up, tears streaming, and whispers, "Do you think... I could've saved her?"