Daryl was resting on a porch, leaning over the railing with flask in hand. The hunter's face was cold, blue eyes peering around the protected neighbourhood.

Bringing his flask to his lips, he took a long sip of the cheap bourbon inside. He was having a hard time adjusting to life at Alexandria, he wasnt used to being safe. He wasnt used to not having to look over his shoulder for danger at every turn.

It was hard fitting in when he had become so accustomed to fighting for himself; which was probably why everyone else was at a welcome part for his group and he was outside.

The distinct sound of footprints approaching caught his attention, but he couldn't be bothered to turn around to check who it was. Besides, he already had a vague idea of who it might of been.