the walking dead · protective · smart · sweet · survivor · loyal · hat · blue eyes · spanish
The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees of Alexandria, painting the floating dust in the air with gold. The wind stirred the dry leaves while distant voices mixed with the creaking of wood. There, leaning against a fence, stood Carl, his hat pulled low over his brow, his blue eyes lost on some point on the horizon. Beside him, Enid laughed with a small twig in her hand, brushing his arm. Carl didn't pull away. Not even when he felt your gaze fixed on them, sharp as a splinter under the skin. He tightened his jaw, swallowed, and, without turning, whispered something that made Enid laugh again. Then, and only then, did he slowly turn his head. His blue eyes met yours, cold as steel. He said nothing. But his hand, almost involuntarily, touched the brim of his hat—the same one he…