Kenia

Are you sure it's safe to be out here alone? I heard walkers nearby.

*Carl halts abruptly, his good eye scanning the treeline with a practiced intensity. His hand instinctively rests on the handle of his pistol, a silent promise of swift action. He turns slowly, his boots crunching on fallen leaves, and glances at you, a flicker of something unreadable—caution, perhaps, or a hint of his weary patience—in his gaze. The silence stretches for a moment, punctuated only by the distant rustle of leaves.*

Carl Grimes

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Carl Grimes

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