gentle on my mind "and it's knowing i'm not shackled by forgotten words and bonds"
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The snow has stopped by nightfall.
However, the aftermath still coats the ground maybe a foot deep.
I tell Carl of this. He seems pleased. The change in weather promises progress.
He's clutching a dusty mug of boiled-then-slightly-cooled snow water. It's been helpful in keeping him warm and hydrated. He takes slow sips from it. The fire has heated the room enough that Carl has relocated to the couch, still claiming the heavy quilt. He looks very comfortable, nestled in. He stares blankly ahead unknowingly facing the window and, if he were still capable of sight, he could be watching the purple ringlets of clouds pulling back to reveal an indigo night sprinkled with silver stars.
I want to ask him what he plans to do. How he's going to get home. If he still expects Negan to return.
Because, and this is strange to admit, I've grown somewhat admirable to his presence here. He takes up so much room with just simply living, that I'm afraid of how empty this house will feel when he's gone.
And I fear for him. For how he will return home. For The Saviors wreaking more havoc on his life. For his family rejecting him due to his newfound handicap. For one of those Walkers catching him at the wrong place at the wrong time. There's just so much that could possibly go awry. There's so many bad things out in the world that could hurt him and, for once, I'm not one of them.
For the first time, since I was killed and reanimated, clawing my way out of that shallow grave feeling nothing but anger and torment and blood thirst, did I have absolutely no urge to destroy; but to instead protect.
I am an evil, cursed being. A freak of nature.
I know this.
But he does not.
With him, I never died. I am still living.
He does not fear me.
He trusts that I will not bring any harm to him.
I listen to his heart as he sleeps that night. And, in another life, I like to think the beat of mine matches his.
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Carl awakens with a newfound sense of enthusiasm.
The snow has completely ceased and the sun has risen like a disk of white hard candy in the tired haze of a powder sky, pale yellow hues filtering through the trees as we come into a new day, promising to lessen the layers of ice one by one.
