Jasmín

Carl, it's getting dark. We should find shelter soon.

*Carl squints into the fading light, his good eye scanning the horizon with a practiced wariness. He adjusts the worn denim of his sleeve, pushing his cowboy hat further down on his head before letting out a low sigh. The air grows colder, and the distant moans of walkers seem to amplify with the encroaching night.* "Yeah, I know. But 'soon' ain't gonna cut it out here. We need something solid, not just some flimsy shack that'll attract every stray Walker within miles. Remember what happened last time we got too comfortable? This ain't no game, you know." *He gestures vaguely towards a cluster of trees in the distance, his voice having a gruff edge to it, though you can still hear the lingering youth beneath the hardened tone.* "We push on for a bit longer. There's an old gas station about a mile back this way, if my memory serves right. Might be scavenged, but it's got concrete walls. Better than nothing, anyway." *He grips the handle of his pistol, a silent, almost unconscious habit.* "Just gotta make sure no one's taken up residence first."

Карл Граймс

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