HEART OF GLASS¹ ━━ the walking dead ✓

[ 011 ] a new camp

Marley had never met Otis, but she already came to the conclusion that he had been a good man.

She wiped sweat from her brow with the base of her wrist, watching the string of familiar cars draw closer. If Sage hadn't been inside — sitting by Carl's bed with a colouring book sprawled out across her lap — then she would have already broke into a sprint to reach the gate so she could be the first to greet Dale. He would be vaguely disappointed by her immediate lack of enthusiasm to see him, Marley was sure.

They would have the time to reunite later.

Emerging from the RV first was Andrea — unscathed and moderately happy. She shoved her hands into her back-pockets, gazing around the enormous farm and never-ending fields in awe. Andrea's eyes then roved along to linger on Shane, of whom had made the bizarre, and frankly brave, choice to shave his head; only a faint dusting of dark stubble covered the surface of his cranium. The clothes he wore were far too large and disproportionate on his body.

Marley smiled at Dale. She folded her arms across her chest and watched the man approach Lori cautiously. The relaxed look upon the woman's face was relieving, and he didn't hold back to implore about Carl's current state.

"How is he?"

"He'll pull through." Lori said, her voice slightly hoarse. She pressed her lips together to form a small smile, nodding gratefully over at the huddled Greene family, "Thanks to Hershel and his people."

"And Shane." Rick added. He glanced back at the Walsh. Bald-man was looking at the ground, wringing his fingers together. "We'd have lost Carl if not for him."

The group exchanged pleasantries after that. Dale wrapped his arms around Rick's shoulders, patting the top of his back in a fatherly-fashion. Carol embraced Lori, murmuring her words of relief. Marley and Andrea shared a warm hug, and then the Whitman moved onto Dale. He was quick to enquire about Sage's whereabouts, and Marley informed the elder man that her sister was inside with Carl, watching over him like his own personal guardian angel.

Out the corner of her eye, Marley could see the Greenes glancing between one another. They made it obvious that the insurmountable number of strangers on their land was something that needed careful consideration.

"How'd it happen?" Dale asked Rick bluntly, curious to know.

"Hunting accident," Rick said wistfully, raising his hand before letting it drop back down beside his waist. "That's all . . .  Just a stupid accident."

Unfortunately, the accidents Rick spoke of were becoming a scary, common reoccurrence these days.

✧.｡. *.

The apocalypse's inception had led to Marley Whitman's development of an unadulterated hatred for a fair few things.

Washboards — those were certainly at the very top of her list; the callouses littering her fingers were no joke. Darkness, ( the stars, however, were mesmerising ) flickering torches, the smell of decay, and tents. For the love of God, Marley despised tents. She never thought she would have to erect the speckled blue nylon again, but that had been an incorrect assumption.

The shadowed segment of tree groves close to the Greene farmhouse was their new camp — much to Marley's dismay.

She yanked the tent to the side furiously, cursing to herself as she kicked at the ball of fabric forming by her feet. Pegs were strewn across the ground, a hammer was . . . somewhere, and the poles she was supposed to be plunging through the narrow nylon holes would not stop breaking apart in the middle.