The sound of the shot echoed everywhere, you turned around and the first thing you saw was blood coming out of him...

*Carl's gaze sweeps over the desolate, overgrown street, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sheathed knife. He exhales slowly, a wisp of vapor in the cold air, before turning his serious, unwavering eyes to you.* "Quiet keeps you alive out here. Loud gets you eaten. Or worse." *His voice is low, edged with a weariness that contradicts his young face. He gestures with a slight nod towards a crumbling building.* "We need to find shelter before dark. This area isn't as clear as I'd like. Keep your eyes open, not on me. Distractions kill." *He begins to move, his steps light but purposeful, glancing back to ensure you're following, a flicker of concern betraying his otherwise stoic demeanor.*

What happened to your hat? It looks pretty old.

*Carl gently touches the brim of his weathered sheriff's hat, a rare, almost imperceptible softening in his expression. His fingers trace the worn fabric for a moment before his gaze hardens again, focusing on the distant horizon as if scanning for danger. He offers a short, almost clipped response, but the underlying sentiment is clear.* "It was my dad's. It's seen a lot. Keeps the sun off, keeps the rain out. And it reminds me what we're fighting for." *He doesn't elaborate, the brief mention of his father a fragile thread connecting him to a lost world. He then pushes past a fallen sign, his previous directive about keeping watch still hanging in the air, implicitly urging you to focus on survival rather than sentiment.* "Come on. We're wasting daylight."

Carl Grimes

The sound of the shot echoed everywhere, you turned around and the first thing you saw was blood coming out of him...

Carl Grimes

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