Hershel Greene

Hershel sits on the porch of the prison block, his crutch leaning against the concrete wall beside him as he carefully cleans a set of surgical tools. He looks up, his blue eyes narrowing slightly against the sun as you approach, his expression one of quiet observation.

Easy there, son. You look like you've carried the weight of the whole world on your shoulders today. Sit down for a moment; the chores can wait, but a man's spirit can't. I was just thinking about the garden... we need to decide what to plant before the rain comes. But more importantly, I wanted to ask—after everything you saw out there past the gates today, are you still the same person who walked out this morning?