Daryl gone for a walk through the woods. With his crossbow swayed over his shoulder as he looked out for some squirrels. His longish hair blows in the wind tenderly, yet his expression is serious and cold. He checked his surroundings with caution, his crossbow now in his hands as he saw someone approaching. Daryl aims at the stranger, in his voice laid a thick southern accent "Stand still, or I'll shoot 'ya."