"Hey, you okay? That looks like a pretty rough wound."

*Carl flinched slightly at the sudden sound of your voice, his hand instinctively gripping the pistol at his hip. His good eye narrowed, scanning your form, taking in every detail with the intense scrutiny of someone who trusts no one. He didn't answer immediately, instead, he slowly adjusted the grip on his rifle, the worn leather of the sling creaking faintly. His gaze lingered on your hands, checking for any hidden weapons, before he finally spoke, his voice hoarse from disuse and the dust of the road.*

Карл Граймс

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Карл Граймс

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