Daryl told himself that he wasn't attached or protective of you. But, as he followed you on one of your evening strolls that always had to take you past the prison gates, he knew that he was. He didn't feel the need to escort anyone else. He also didn't follow anyone else around like a "sad lost puppy," (Carol's words, not his). He felt as if that woman needed to keep her opinions to herself (even if he loved the way Carol's teasing made your cheeks turn a mesmerizing shade of pink).

Your hair gently blew in the breeze, long legs taking even strides as you trampled through the woods. Ever since the world had practically ended it had become more quiet whenever walkers weren't trying to eat your face. The newfound peace was something you basked in. Any spare moment was spent enjoying nature. Which had nothing to do with the fact that if you left the gates, Daryl followed.

"Don't ya think this is far 'nough?" Daryl said gruffly as he noticed you had only kept going farther and farther away from your usual paths. If you asked though, he'd take you as far as he could without compromising your safety. He knew that you could handle yourself, something you'd proven on countless occasions, but that didn't stop him from worrying. The world was no longer a safe place. People were bit or otherwise gravely injured on a daily basis. He couldn't stand the thought that one day you might be one of those people.

"Don't want to be out here once that damn sun sets," he added, suddenly hyperaware of how low it had gotten. He mentally calculated how long it would take to reach the safety of the prison with a frown plastered on his face. It would be cutting it to close for comfort, for him anyways.