FWD: I was listening to some somber Christmas music by Josh Garrels and was suddenly inspired to write something that goes in a bit of a different direction than the show. I don't own the walking dead or these characters. +++++++++++++++++++

Chapter 1: In the Bleak Midwinter

A fine white dusting had festively settled over the ground and what was left of the green grass beside the road. The wind gusted and Carol held a scarf firmly against her chapped lips to cut the bite of the cold from stinging her face. She sighed and looked ahead. The road was empty, no footprints on the ground, and the dead were silent.

Months on the road had taught her to be on high alert no matter what she saw or heard around her. There was no telling what could be lurking in the shadows of the snow laden forest. Many things had lurked there before the cold had bitten hard into the earth. People, feral animals, the dead. But none were more terrifying than her own ghosts. At night she slept fitfully, in and out of nightmares about the ones she'd left behind or killed.

Sweat trickled down her brow and she felt it begin to collect in the palms of her mittened hands. The wind died down momentarily and she removed her mittens and dropped the sar fro her face. A whisper from the past, a memory, flashed before her, "What do you want?" she remembered him asking long ago by the fire. "I want a man of honor," had been her own reply. She laughed at herself. Hindsight was twenty/twenty. She lingered next to the road taking in a deep breath of cold air while wiping her brow. He had been the man she was talking about then and he had done everything to rise to the occasion under the dire circumstances. At the time she naively assumed they'd continue on as a family. But things, mostly she, had changed.

She shook her head and tightened the scarf around her face again before putting her gloves back on. In the first weeks since she'd left Alexandria she had hoped he'd come after her, find her in some abandoned shack or house and bring her back, confess his undying love with awkward words and affectionate touches. All of it wishful thinking, no different than thinking Sophia to be alive so long ago.

A gust of wind picked up and blew through her and she knew it was time to keep moving. A mailbox at the end of a long driveway appeared up ahead. For the first time in three weeks she thought hopefully about the possibility of a can of beans, a warm blanket and maybe some dry wood to burn.

She could've had more if she'd stayed with Morgan at the Kingdom. But just before she decided to leave, right as the doctor declared her fit to work again, the itch to run returned. She had began to subtly remove herself the kingdom at that point, first by insisting she live alone in the house away from the settlement, then shortly after Daryl's visit she ducked out in the middle of the night.

When she reached the mailbox she opened it in curiosity and rolled her eyes when it turned up nothing but ice. She turned and looked up the long driveway. There were no recent tracks, a few shuffling dead tracks here and there across through the trees but it looked safe enough. She took the chance and made her way up the drive. There was a small cottage sitting built into the side of a hill. To the south of the house was a barn much like the one on Hershel's property. Next to the cottage there looked to be a water pump. She prayed luck was on her side and it was far enough underground that the water wasn't frozen or dried up.

She found some scraps of metal and made her way to the front door of the cottage. The door and windows were all intact. Much like the grove had been, the small refuge seemed virtually untouched. She broke the glass on the door hoping the sound would attract any walkers and bring them out from hiding. She stood in the entryway of the home and sighed. The air was musty from being shut for so long, no walkers had appeared and she assumed there were at least four more rooms that needed to be checked. She shut the door behind her and for a moment she settled into the subtle change in temperature.

Five minutes later she had vetted every room, every nook and cranny. Her spoils were ten cans of fruit, beans, veggies. There was plenty of dry wood stocked in the shed outside and she stoked the fire of the wood stove, warmed her hands and waited for the top of the stove to heat. When it was hot enough she poured some water from the pump outside into a kettle and waited for a boil. Once done she let it cool and drank up greedily.

Hours later she was cuddled up into the couch with 5 different blankets piled around her. If it had been the old world she imagined Sophia sitting curled up with a book in the chair across from her and if she fantasized really hard she could see Him. He was sitting at the kitchen table near the wood stove cleaning his bow while planning his next hunt. In another world maybe they were the picture of domesticity.

She closed her eyes and listened as the wind rushed against the north side of the house.