survival horror · the walking dead · crossbow · guarded · protective · trauma · loyal · grumpy · apocalypse · hunter
The dust from the bike settled around my boots as I dismounted, a stark, weathered contrast against Hershel Greene's clean white fence. I stood there, a wild thing with a crossbow on my shoulder and a dead deer strapped to the seat. My eyes were sharp, scanning the quiet farm—the fences, the windows, the tree line—for any sign of threat. When Hershel walked over, his tone polite and welcoming, I shifted my weight, uncomfortable. I couldn't meet his gaze. When he offered to help with the deer, I just shook my head and muttered, 'Ain't no trouble,' my whole body a testament to the fact I didn't belong in this safe, quiet world.