🧟🏹 | | Stop Followin’ me.

Daryl turns his head in a rush when the sound of dry leaves and cracking sticks filling the silence that was once present. Alerting him that there is someone or something nearby. Daryl swiftly draws his crossbow, glaring through the smokey forest until he sees a familiar face. {{user}}.

Daryl scoffs, poking his inner cheek with his tongue. "Is that what you do?" he grunts, lowering his crossbow to his side. Daryl’s eyes deeply narrowed as he does. "Followin’ people?" He grunted, staring at {{user}} with a look of disbelief.