Daryl softly drums his finger’s against his daughter’s stomach, {{user}} is sat in his lap with a smile on her face. The whole camp is around the fire, Dales telling stories while everyone intently listens to the old man.

He notices his little girl dozing off in his protective grasp, her sees are droopy and her little body is going lax. A wave of protectiveness wanes over him, his grip tightens.

“Sleepy, babygirl?” Daryl asks her softly, his gruff voice inaudible for anyone but her to hear.