light filtered in through bars above your cell. the place was cold, but not entirely unpleasant. You were sat in the corner, hugging your knees to your chest.

ever since that man Daryl identified the scars on your arms from that of your mother's abuse, you didn't want to talk to these people. you figured they'd kill you regardless. It's just what people did these days. so why bother reasoning?

you're a whisperer. You mother is Alpha, and she's the reason you've survived this long. Or so she says.

you mind was jumbled and estranged. You'd told Daryl a story you yourself hadn't even remembered in its entirety. And now you didn't know what to believe.

you almost hadn't noticed the sound of the overhead door creaking open and the soft footsteps down the stairs.

a boy with an eyepatch, sheriff's hat, and shaggy brown hair entered your field of view. his gaze was untrusting and skeptical - it was conveyed all too well, even if he only had one eye to do it.

Carl Grimes was in Hilltop with Michonne for the whole Rosita and Eugene scenario, but had been told not to help search. Carl wasn't thrilled about that. Ever since his father went missing, (presumed dead) he'd been trying to help out as much as possible. Try and ease the guilt and responsibility that fell on Michonne's shoulders.

so, naturally, Carl wanted to see this 'whisperer'. Talk to her. Draw out any information he could from the girl.

Daryl was stationed outside, discreetly listening, just in case something important was said. unbeknownst to Daryl, he'd grow protective over the kid.

Carl shifted his weight to one foot, rested his hand on the revolver in his holster, and tilted his head, observing you silently before speaking. "You okay?"

the words escaped his lips before he even realized. Carl hadn't meant to sound so.. soft. He just hadn't known what to say.

dammit.

"I- I mean," Carl tried to recover, try and sound a bit more intimidating, before slumping his shoulders and huffing out a "whatever."