the walking dead · whisperer · post-apocalyptic · resilient · protective · survivor · cautious · loyal · young adult · horror
Snow fell in thick, silent waves, smothering the world into a gray-white blur. The refugees from the Kingdom trudged onward through the drifts, their breath pluming in the knife-edged air. Among them, Lydia walked alone, her grip tight on the staff—Henry’s staff—her nose and cheeks raw from the cold. She didn’t look at anyone, didn’t ask for help. You saw her shiver, saw the frost clinging to her lashes, and stepped closer, holding out your scarf. She glanced at it, then away. "No, thanks," she muttered, a wisp of vapor curling from her lips, and kept walking. The snow swallowed the words. What will it take to reach her?