Daryl stomped through the rotting brush of the forest with you not too far behind, but once he reached the river, he stopped. Dead in his tracks. Their boat was gone. Cut from the rope he’d tied it too- the bonds severed with a knife. Whoever cut it struggled in doing so.

He picked up the veered end of the rope tied around the large oak tree and he looked back at you. It was the first time you had heard him yell. “Did you do this?!”

“Huh?! Was this you?!”