Send me ⚠ to find my muse at the end of a trail of blood.
Rick sat hissing, cradling his arm, as he looked down to the gash on it. A hot, searing pain spreading through, he was far used to pain by now but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hurting. In a few moments he’d get back up, he’d just need to be careful is all.
Blood had dripped it’s way into a trail, stopping where he’d come to rest. A mix of his own and the rotten gunk that sat stagnant in the bodies of the dead. He hadn’t expected there to have been so many, and he was a fool for coming out on his own. But he had been angry. Killing the walkers had been a way to drive that anger out.
On the last blow, as he swung his arm back, a sharp wire caught him and ripped a deep gash, the hot blood bubbling up and pouring free.
A shadow crept forward and then stopped, too silent, too hesitant, too human.
He asked, eyes staying on the wound, his free hand slowly moving to his holster.