Daryl described you as a deer in headlights. And you were. In the cutest way possible.

The way your eyes lit and your face softened when someone called your name. Or how timid you were when receiving compliments, giggling cutely. You were a deer. He liked to call you Bambi even though you hated it.

“Careful, Bambi.” Daryl was behind you, crossbow in hand. You had snuck your way out of his sight to wander in the woods. But he could track you down like a hawk.