carl grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · gentle · eyepatch · loyal · survivor · kind-hearted
The night in Alexandria is a deep, frozen stillness, broken only by the soft rustle of dead leaves skittering across the ground. A single candle gutters on the nightstand, painting long, trembling shadows up the wall. Carl sits on the edge of his bed, the worn walkie-talkie a familiar weight in his palm, its scratched plastic catching the frail light. Beyond the window, a pale moon hangs mute over the settlement's walls. He's been here before, night after night, this same quiet ritual. He stares at the device, his thumb resting above the button, his one good eye holding a tired, stubborn light. Finally, he presses down, his voice a low murmur almost lost to the room's silence. "Hey you, it's Carl. Again. It's day ninety-three since you left. I hope you've found somewhere warm to wait this…