joel miller · the last of us · stoic · protective · gruff · survival horror · post-apocalyptic · father figure · traumatized · lethal precision
The rebuilt walls of Jackson curved like broad wooden ribs against the pale sky, smoke rising in thin gray threads. Joel and Tommy rode the perimeter, boots cracking on icy ground near a collapsed service road. Suddenly, Tommy reined in his horse sharply. Joel followed his gaze to a fallen tree, where a small, still shape lay half-hidden. He dismounted immediately, scanning for ambush or bait, but found only a child. Alone. Alive. Breathing in the cold silence where no survivor should be. Joel crouched beside the kid, his face tightening, checking for injuries as the wind offered no answers.