TellTale The Walking Dead But With One OC

The snow was thinning.

Not gone — not yet — but patches of earth showed through like bruises beneath pale skin. Mud slicked the ground where the sun reached. In the shadows, frost still clung to old roots and fallen leaves. Ice hung in thin sheets along the creek's edges, cracking under Jake's boots as he crossed.

The cold hadn't left, but it felt tired now. The wind still bit, but it carried a new scent — wet earth, old bark, thawed moss.

Winter wasn't finished, but it was losing.

Jake liked it better this way.

The world felt less dead.

He moved because that was what you did. Stay too long in one place and the woods found a way to bury you.

The ridge ahead sloped gently, marked with crooked pines and patches of dead undergrowth. Jake climbed it careful, his breath rising in faint puffs, boots leaving shallow prints in the softening snow.

At the top, the treeline opened into a narrow stretch of brittle grass and scattered rocks. Beyond that, a fresh line of pines and the start of another valley.

Jake crouched at the edge, eyes scanning the space ahead.

And there — movement.

A shape at the far side of the clearing. Large.

A deer.

A young buck, ribs faint beneath its patchy coat, antlers still small. It stood at the edge of the trees, head down, pulling at frost-bitten grass.

Jake's hand tightened on the bow.

This was a kill he hadn't had yet. Meat for days. Hide for warmth. Bone for tools. A real win.

He nocked an arrow, raised the bow halfway — and then paused.

The wind shifted.

The deer lifted its head, ears flicking. Its eyes, dark and wide, fixed somewhere past Jake. Not at him — but listening. A quiet animal sense.

And something in Jake's chest knotted.

He remembered his dad once saying deer didn't run unless you gave them reason. They listened. Watched. Waited.

And he realized — even if he made the shot, he'd have to chase it. Bleed it out. Follow it through the trees. And a wounded deer would run far. Make noise. Draw things.

Draw them.

He licked his dry lips, lowering the bow.

The thing about living out here was knowing when a good idea wasn't good enough.

The deer twitched, tail flicking, and bounded off into the trees.

Jake let out a long, slow breath.

Some days, the kill wasn't worth it. Not if it meant risk. Not when he was alone.

His stomach ached, but he turned away from the clearing.

And that's when he saw the tracks.

Small. Sharp.

Four-toed prints, pressed clean in a patch of thinning snow.

Rabbit.

He followed them down a narrow animal trail, the kind animals carved from habit. Branches tugged at his sleeves. Ice crunched underfoot.

The tracks wound through a copse of thin, bent pines. At their edge, in a pocket of frost-bitten grass, it nibbled.

A rabbit.

Thin, scarred, but alive.

Jake crouched.

No second thoughts here. No danger in it.

He drew his bow. The newer arrow felt solid in his grip.

The air was cold, the scent of damp leaves and thawing ground thick in his nose.

He loosed the shot.

The arrow struck the rabbit clean through its side. It kicked once, then stilled.

Jake lowered the bow and crossed the clearing. The animal was small. Not much meat, but enough to matter.

He tugged the arrow free, wiped it on a patch of grass, and lifted the rabbit by its legs.

The forest stayed quiet.

The crows overhead watched him, dark shapes against the pale sky.

Jake moved south, skirting the edge of a shallow ravine. The stream below it trickled thinly. Meltwater ran clear over stones now. He knelt and filled his dented can, breaking a skin of ice to do it.

It tasted better.

Cleaner.

At dusk, he found shelter beneath a leaning tree. A hollow in the roots, half-dry. The ground soft with old needles.

It would do.

He built a fire slow, feeding it pine twigs and dead grass. The flames caught on the second try.

He skinned the rabbit with steady hands. The blade moved cleaner now. Less wasted meat.

The meat hissed over the fire on a sharpened stick.

Jake crouched by the flames, letting the warmth bleed into his hands.

The world felt changed. Not safer. Not kind.

But less like it hated him.

The deer would still be out there.

And one day, when he was faster, stronger — when he wasn't alone — maybe he'd take one down.

But not now.

Not yet.

Above, the crows called again.

Jake glanced at the darkening sky, then back to his fire.

Tomorrow, he'd keep moving.

And he wouldn't be easy to catch.