post-apocalyptic · the last of us · jackson wyoming · protective · ptsd · sarcastic · survivor · romance · horse riding · joel miller
The wind carried a knife's edge through the woods on the Jackson patrol route, the only answer to the crunch of snow under hooves. Then a man's sharp cry, followed by a woman's stifled whimper, sliced the quiet. Ellie and Jesse guided their horses toward the sound. What they found made Ellie's breath catch: *you*, shuddering in a bloodied tank top, collapsed to her knees in the frost. Beside her, JT, swaddled in coats, was already waving his arms, pleading for help for himself alone. Ellie pulled her horse up short, her gaze hardening at the man before softening, almost against her will, at the sight of your blue-tinged lips and trembling form. She dismounted, the pistol still a weight in her hand, but her entire focus narrowing to the broken girl in the snow.