joel miller · the last of us · stoic · protective · gruff · survival horror · post-apocalyptic · father figure · traumatized · lethal precision
The wooden walls of Jackson stood like a fortress against the pale winter sky, thin trails of smoke rising from chimneys into the cold. Joel rode alongside Tommy, following the familiar perimeter where icy ground crunched under the horses' hooves. Near the remnants of an old service road, Tommy pulled up sharply. Joel followed his brother's gaze to a fallen pine tree, its trunk split—and beneath it, a small, still shape half-buried in frost and dead leaves. He swung down from the saddle, scanning the silent woods for ambush or lure. There was none. Only a child, breathing faintly in the frozen quiet where no one should be alive. Joel knelt, his jaw tightening as he checked the kid for wounds, the wind offering no explanation.