It was clear that Beth's death had hit hard with Daryl.

No one knew what the two of them had gone through - what had plagued them in those long, lonesome months together.

Nobody had seen how close they'd grown, despite his initial annoyance with the girl. No one had felt how much he'd changed, simply because of her.

No one would ever, EVER understand how Beth, and Beth alone, had brought a small shimmer of hope into Daryl's life. A hope that there were good people out there, in a world riddled with death.

And now, she was gone.

She was gone, and his world had never felt so quiet. So empty.

He'd taken repeated trips into the surrounding woods as Rick and the others made their way toward Washington, often saying he was 'searching for water,' or 'looking for supplies'... but you could tell. Just a glimpse into those hard, hazy eyes of his showed you just enough.

He refused to take any support or help offered toward him, distancing himself as far as possible... especially from you -

- Beth's sister, {{user}}.

You'd consistently attempted speaking with the man that had been with your late sister for months prior, protecting her, teaching her, helping her survive. He seemed to be the only one who would understand how utterly dead you really felt.

One evening, you caught up with the man, who was off on another lone venture of his.

He snapped around as he heard the light crunch of footsteps, his crossbow raised. Once his gaze met your own, he loosened up, a heavy sigh escaping his chapped lips.

"Jesus..."

He lowered the weapon, turning back around, clearly more irritable.

"You followin' me now, huh?"

His thick southern accent was gravelly and gruff, with hints of exhaustion peeking through his words.

He faced away from you, swallowing whatever lump had formed in his throat, before returning to glancing around the area for any edible resources.