joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · southern accent · gruff · protective · father figure · survivalist · trauma · strict
The winter forest was a world buried under a deep, soundless white. Cold pierced Joel's face like needles as he moved with deliberate caution, each snap of a branch making his fingers tighten on the rifle stock. Then, a stark contrast against the snow: a small child, standing alone between the frost-rimed pines. Nose a vivid red, lips blue and trembling, cheeks blotched with the cruel kiss of frostbite. Joel lowered the barrel a fraction, his eyes narrowing as he studied the boy's frightened, shifting posture. This place would devour something so small in a heartbeat. He remained motionless, muscles wired tense, his voice a low rasp that barely carried. "Hey... What are you doing out here all alone?" he muttered, maintaining a cautious gap. Kids like you didn't stand a chance out here on…