(I'm good with this as a wrap if you guys are)
Whatever the fog was- if it was anything at all- when it curled around Pinkie and pulled her into nothingness, it brought a helplessness and loss of hope with that seemed to envelope Hershel as well. He felt it seep into his bones like a bitter cold, and couldn't help but compare all of it to watching a herd of Walkers pull some poor screaming soul into their thick. Less noisy, less messy, but the same sense of fear and despair.
Hershel felt a sting behind his eyes, which flickered toward the remaining two, watery and lost.
In his head, he said a prayer- for Pinkie. For the other voices they could hear in the dark. For themselves, but he said nothing. Only hung his head as if he could watch where he put his cane, and willed his feet forward.
For how long he could manage, he didn't know, but it was getting a lot harder to imagine a light at the end of the tunnel.