As one ➳ D.D

(CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN)

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN

( Sketch book )

     "IS HE STILL refusing to see anybody?" Glenn asked, as he saw Ophelia sitting at the cell block table.

     Ophelia nodded. "He's locked himself in the perch, and he hasn't spoken to anybody ever since we got back. Not even me."

     "Give him some time," Glenn said softly, sitting opposite her. "He'll talk to you when he's ready. Right now, he just needs to grieve his brother."

    "I know," she sighed. "I just feel useless sitting around here doing nothing while he's up there mourning his brother all alone."

     "You're anything but useless." Glenn told her. "Useless would be bombarding him 24/7 trying to tell him that everything will be okay in the end."

"I suppose so," she hummed. "He'd hate that."

"Exactly." Glenn nodded. "But, he will talk to eventually, he can't stay in that perch forever. In the meantime, maybe you should try and keep yourself busy."

"That reminds me," She said, looking over at Glenn's duffel bag. "How was your run with Maggie?"

"It was good, we found loads of stuff. We even managed to find an arts and crafts shop on the way back, so we picked up a lot off stuff for Carl and Judith especially." He told her. "But, we stocked up on some vegetable seeds too, just in case the crops in the courtyard get destroyed after...after the Governor attacks us."

Ophelia shuddered at the thought — nobody had any idea of how the whole thing was going to go down when The Governor rolled up at the prison.

"I take it you didn't run into any trouble?" She asked in concern.

"A few walkers, but that's it." Glenn replied. "I think everybody in Woodbury is too busy 'gearing up for war' to bother chasing us on supply runs anymore."

Glenn then reached into his duffel bag, and pulled out a sketchbook which he laid on the table.

"A sketchbook?" Ophelia said with raised eyebrows. "I didn't know you could draw?"

"I can't. The only thing I 'draw' is stickmen." He quietly laughed. "This isn't for me. It's for you."

"For me?"

"Yeah." He smiled, pushing the sketch pad across the table and over to her. "I know you said you didn't want us to get you anything, but it was just going to be left behind on the shelf if we didn't take it. And me and Maggie figured you could do with something to take your mind of things."

"But—but how did you know I liked drawing?" She asked. "I haven't told anyone."

"No, you didn't. But, back at the farm, when I was on watch with your brother one time, he said you used to draw all the time." He told her. "We were talking about school, you see. And what we were good at. He said he was terrible at art, but you weren't."