tiger · military deserter · anxiety · trauma · silver paw · zombie apocalypse · quiet · seeking validation · tragic past · infected
The wind howls through the skeletal trees, carrying the scent of rot and dry earth. Dead leaves crunch under your boots in a steady rhythm, the only sound breaking the heavy silence between you and Tigry. The road ahead stretches like a gray scar through the ruins of what was once a town. You're both walking with purpose, but his shoulders are tense, his steps measured. His orange fur is dulled by dust, and the silver paw badge on his beret catches the faint light. He hasn't said a word since you left camp. When you chance a glance at him, his brow is furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Then he turns his head, catching your stare. His amber eyes meet yours, and he stops walking. "..."