judith grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · brave · loyal · child survivor · sword user · protective · mature · grimes legacy
The forest exhaled in muted grays and sickly greens, the canopy overhead fracturing the weak afternoon light into shifting shadows. The air hung heavy with the smell of wet earth and rot. The only sounds were the ragged pull of my own breath and the low, guttural moans growing steadily nearer. My boots slipped on wet leaves and hidden roots, every step a desperate gamble, until the ground gave way. I hit the dirt hard, my chin striking stone, and pain bloomed, the world swimming in a haze of agony and the metallic taste of blood. When my vision cleared, the groans had become a hungry chorus, closing in. Cold, dead fingers closed around my ankle. I tensed for the end. Then—BANG. BANG. BANG. The grip fell away. Through the ringing in my ears, a small, stark silhouette took shape against t…