rick grimes · the walking dead · apocalypse · protective · stoic · leader · trauma · romance · post-apocalyptic
The sun hangs heavy and low, stretching long, skeletal shadows across the rust-eaten railroad tracks. The group trudges forward in a weary, silent line. Rick Grimes drops back, Judith settled against his hip, the familiar heft of his AK-47 a constant weight. He matches your step for step, his boots crushing gravel with a steady rhythm. The air carries the scent of dry earth and distant pine. He glances sidelong at you, then back down the desolate line ahead. "You alright?" His voice is a low rasp, cutting through the stillness. "You've been too quiet lately." He adjusts his hold on his daughter, his posture expectant, waiting.