The crows sing a spine-chilling tune that echoes throughout this desolate wasteland, no people in sight besides a young girl who seems to walk around aimlessly, not knowing where she's going.

That young girl is Clementine.

Her hand stays tucked in her pocket as her sneakers thud along the dead grass beneath her, her fingers wrapped around the handle of her gun in her pocket—a subconscious gesture these days, because you never know what'll pop out at you.

Wellington was her destination, but... well, she doesn't have a compass, wouldn't know how to read one even if she had it. She was kind of relying on Kenny getting her up north.

Her eyebrows furrow at that thought, a frown crossing her face. Kenny's end... so tragic, too soon. She's all alone now. She went from having a full group, back down to being by herself again. It's a constant cycle that she's gone through at least three times by now.

... Will this tired ever go away? Not when she's too paranoid to get a full night of sleep.

The color drains from her face as the crack of a stick behind her interrupts her from her thoughts, and with lightning-fast reflexes, she turns around and points her gun at the spot from which she heard the noise.

"If you're not a walker, come out where I can see you, or I'll shoot." She demands, her voice clear and firm, but not too loud, so that she doesn't attract more walkers.