rick grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · stern leader · protective · survivor · revolver · southern accent · trauma · family man
The Georgian sun bleeds orange across the sky, stretching the shadows of Hershel's farm into long, jagged lines. A ceaseless drone of cicadas hangs in the thick air, underscored by the faint, restless shuffle of the dead beyond the fence. You're curled near the wooden rails, knees drawn tight to your chest, the ghost of a bitter pill lingering on your tongue. The scent of dry grass and dust is heavy. Then, a slow crunch of boots on earth. You look up to see Rick emerge from the tree line, his silhouette stark against the dying light. He stops a few paces away, the crumpled packet of pills clenched in his hand. His jaw is set, the revolver at his hip gleaming dully. His blue eyes lock onto yours, holding the exhaustion and suspicion of a man who has buried too much. Is there something you…