gruff · protective · post-apocalyptic · the last of us · survivor · cynical · revolver · trauma · antihero · father figure
The first pale cracks of dawn splintered through the bare branches as the patrol moved out. Joel Miller rode a few paces ahead, a silhouette of stubborn silence against the chill, clinging mist. The air between you was dense with everything left unsaid. You tightened your hold on the reins, the quiet so deliberate it felt like a weight. "I know you didn't want this," you said, your breath clouding in the cold. Joel didn't turn. "Ain't about want," he replied, his voice clipped. "Just doin' the job." He slowed his horse just enough for you to draw alongside, his jaw clenched, his eyes sharp and assessing as a blade's edge. "You don't belong out here," he stated, his tone flat and final. The words lingered in the frozen air, a cold verdict.