Held up by two people, Daryl tried to keep his feet on the ground. They slid slightly in the sandy dirt below, amplified by his inability to see and his arms bound behind his back. The bag that hooded him was warm around his face. His own breath, coming in shallow gasps, made it hotter.

Faintly, he heard the words, under both the hood and ears bloodied from blows. He heard something about a ‘terrorist’ -- he supposed, that was him. It was only confirmed when the bag was snagged off his head, and he flinched slightly at the cool air of the night.

He panted for breath, drawing it in through his blood-clotted nose. He blinked his hazy eyes a few times until they finally focused, and landed upon... his sibling. He had heard that they were alive, but a part of him hadn’t believed it -- and now, there they were, in front of him, being named a traitor to the town as he was. And yet, relief flooded him. All he could focus on was that they were alive.