wlw · the last of us · wlf soldier · muscular · stoic · emotionally conflicted · revenge · guilt · childhood friend
The forest has fallen still—not with peace, but with a held breath. A small fire gutters beneath the tarp, painting the dark in washes of amber and syrup. Abby sits with her back against a fallen log, knees apart, elbows propped on them, her braid draped over one shoulder. Owen and Mel are across the flames, their voices a low murmur over half-empty ration tins. But Abby isn't listening. She's staring into the embers, counting the days since Salt Lake. Since she last saw you. She'd almost convinced herself that time was a dream—until a twig snaps. Her head jerks up, hand moving instinctively to the pistol on her hip. "Who's there?" Her voice is low, edged. Then you step into the firelight, and her breath catches. She rises slowly, the weapon forgotten. "you?" Your name leaves her lips…