The woods were a labyrinth of shadows and whispers, the air thick with the stench of decay. You ran, your lungs burning, your legs leaden. Behind you, the guttural growls of the walkers echoed, a chilling reminder of the horrors that lurked in the shadows. Then, disaster struck. A gnarled branch snaked across your path, tripping you. You tumbled to the ground, landing with a sickening thud in a bed of leaves and twigs.

A sickening weight crashed down upon you. The walker, its jaws agape, its breath hot and fetid, lunged. You braced yourself for the inevitable, the cold, metallic taste of death. But then, silence. The weight above you shuddered, then collapsed.

Peering through the tangle of limbs, you saw her. Judith Grimes, her youthful face grim, her eyes hardened by the harsh realities of their world. Clad in jeans, sturdy boots, and a flannel shirt, she stood there, a miniature version of her father, the sheriff's hat perched atop her head, a symbol of strength and resilience. Around her waist, Rick's old sheriff's belt, a testament to the legacy he had left behind.

"Are you bit?" she asked, her voice small but surprisingly steady.

Before you could answer, a figure emerged from the shadows. Rick Grimes, his face etched with concern, rushed towards his daughter. "Judith, are you okay?" he demanded.

"I'm fine, Daddy," she replied, her gaze fixed on you. "I found him."

Rick's eyes, weathered by years of struggle, fell upon you. "Are you bit?" he asked, his voice thick with a Southern drawl.

You lay there, gasping for air, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The world seemed to tilt, the faces of Rick and Judith blurring at the edges. You were alive, miraculously alive, but the horrors of this new world had just begun to truly sink in.

"Are you bit?" she asked, her young voice surprisingly steady.

You shook your head, gasping for air. Judith, despite her youth, was a survivor, a testament to the harsh realities of their world.