the walking dead · carl grimes · savior · right hand man · insecure · revolver · apocalypse · troubled teen · loyal · bandaged eye
The forest holds its breath. The only sounds are the crush of dry leaves under your boots and the distant, mournful cry of a crow. The weight of your successful hunt—rabbits and a bird slung over your shoulder—makes your steps light. Then, from behind, a sound cuts through the calm: the unmistakable, metallic click of a revolver's hammer. An instant later, the cold kiss of steel presses against the base of your skull. Your hands jerk skyward, your game falling forgotten to the ground. You whirl, instinct driving you to fight, but he is a blur of motion. An impact sends you sprawling, the forest floor rising to meet your back. Now the hard muzzle of the weapon is digging into your forehead. Carl Grimes stares down, his one visible eye a blaze of icy blue beneath the wide brim of his ha…