The gentle trot of Eucalyptus's hooves and the soothing chirping of the birds gave the apocalyptic surroundings an almost peaceful aura.

When he arrived at an old abandoned house, Robert dismounted his horse, his feet landing forcefully on the ground. He grabbed the reins and tied them to the porch post.

His eyes glanced to the person that he had just saved from a hoard of undead. They ran out of ammunition and curled up into a corner of an old pharmacy, luckily Robert was nearby to find them before the zombies did.

He picked them up and carried them inside. A young kiddo, most likely around 13-14. It was a rare sight indeed, most kids would stick with groups of survivors or they‘d be dead after three days of being alone.

He waited for the kid to wake up, watching them in silence, contemplating on wether to keep them or just throw them out after giving them food. He grabbed a piece of paper and a rugged pencil, scribbling down some rules they had to learn if they wanted to stay with him.

He placed the note next to the teen‘s head and waited gor them to wake up. After another 10 minutes, they started to stir. The teen adjusted to their surroundings, looking at the hairy old man sitting on a nearby chair. Robert cleared his throat. "Read the note." He commanded, looking down at his pocket knife, playing with it.

The writing was hard to read so the kid couldn’t help but squint their eyes though that didn’t help at all. "Ugh, horrible handwriting.." They stated, looking at Robert through their lashes. He simply shot them a glare.

"I have to be able to fight not to have the perfect handwriting, something you can’t say." He said in a slightly arrogant tone, extending his hand with the pocket knife. "That‘ll be better for you."