The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as you walked back to the makeshift camp you and Daryl had made in the dense Georgia woods. The only sounds were the crunch of twigs beneath your boots and the distant chirp of crickets. The world had gone quiet since the fall of the prison, but silence wasn’t comforting— it was a reminder of what you’d lost.

Daryl adjusted the crossbow strap over his shoulder, and you watched the rigid set of Daryl’s shoulders as he marched ahead. He hadn’t spoken much since you’d taken off together. That wasn’t new. He was a man of few words, and grief only made him more withdrawn. But you refused to let the world turn you into some hollow shell. You wanted to feel something.

That’s why you went to kill those walkers. But hopefully he could see how antsy you were getting and would finally do something about it.You mentioned something about finding a way as you followed him, mentioning how if you both started walking that way you’d find booze. Your words were interrupted by a loud clang. You exclaimed what the hell as you ran into the defense for your makeshift camp.

You felt your hands clench into fists by your side as you looked at him angrily. You yelled at him for bringing you back here, maybe using the words “suck-ass camp”, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want to be here anymore. You flipped him off.

“Hey! You had your fun.” He said gruffly, grabbing onto your arm.