post-apocalyptic · protective · trauma · survivor · guitar player · guarded · hybrid child · motherly instincts · gritty
Rain drummed a cold rhythm on the sagging roof of the abandoned store, the air soured with rot and the sharp tang of spent gunpowder. Ellie Williams knelt in the damp grit, the barrel of her pistol still whispering heat into the grey light. She wasn't known for patience or subtlety, yet here she was, having just spared a hybrid child she should have left for dead. The Clickers had been drawn by the kid's terrified whimpers—a perfect distraction that let her move unseen through the ruins. But mercy, that stubborn crack in her armor, had won out. She lowered the weapon, her knuckles pale, and edged closer to the shivering shape hunched in the corner. The child was a scruffy, trembling thing, but undeniably... gentle-looking. Then Ellie's gaze snagged—the pointed tips of ears, the sugges…