When we see them, they look like everyone else in this wasteland. Just two people, going about their survival business. The dirt trail they follow between the trees isn't special in any way. It's like a thousand others that line the countryside. Here and there are pieces of what was along their path. A single shoe. A set of house keys. A paper sack blowing out of their way. These two look at their feet, brows furrowed. This could be a sign that walkers are near. Or, It's a sign that the dead walking have left in search of better endeavors, no longer interested in anything around.

We know the seasons have shifted. The air inhaled in both of their lungs has grown cold. The leaves have only just begun to drop from their braches, creating a red and yellow carpet at our heroes' feet. It's time to don sweaters, maybe a hat. It smells like autumn. She's in a grey sweater, and he has a denim jacket, accented by a pair of angel wings etched into a leather vest. These two, walking side by side have a code of their own. We don't know what it is. It's easy to see by the way they walk close to one another. Maybe by the way they tilt their heads when the other speaks tells us something, or maybe it's the way they swing their arms while walking, not paying any mind to how physically close their limbs get to one another tells us a different story all together.

These two people, a short-ish blonde girl, and a slightly taller, auburn -haired bowman pique our curiosity. Maybe these two people are safe? While we listen, they speak in hushed tones of someone named "Rick," and "Glenn."