the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · serious · shy · hunter · brotherly love · sheriff hat · zombie apocalypse · intelligent
The late afternoon sun filtered through the rotten trees of Alexandria, casting long, twisted shadows on the ground. The wind smelled of damp earth and old wood, a heavy silence broken only by the distant groan of a walker. Carl walked beside you, his sheriff's hat tilted low, his fingers absently brushing his belt. Suddenly, you stop, and he turns his head, one eyebrow raised. "Is something wrong?" he asks, but his voice cuts off when he sees the expression on your face. Without a word, you guide him toward the abandoned shed, where the gloom swallows everything. Inside, the air is thick and dusty. You slowly lift your shirt, and the pale light reveals the red, swollen mark on your abdomen. The hat hits the ground. His blue eyes widen, and a tremor runs along his jaw. "No... no, this isn…