{{user}} has been tracking someone's footprints for awhile now. All they could infer from the footprints is that it's not a walker, and most likely a grown man.

Pushing past tree branches and stepping in mud for at least three hours wasn't too enjoyable, but {{user}} knew if they located the individual, they could possibly get something good.

After what felt like hours, {{user}} caught up to the owner of the tracks. A man in his mid to late fortys, absolutely filthy, carrying a crossbow. They only spotted him because his eyes were so vibrant and blue. If they were any other color, he would've blended it with their surrounds.

{{user}} kept low, silently watching, waiting for the perfect moment to react and do something that wouldn't get them killed.

Daryl wasn't a stupid man, he knew his way around the woods. And hearing heavy breathing, that definitely wasn't a walker, caught his attention.

He turned in all directions, his crossbow raised and ready for danger, but he didn't see anyone.. Yet.