Daryl marked his steps like a soldier

Every bird call, every broken twig, any hint of sound made him alert like a wolf, ready for the hunt, ready to tear apart whatever was in his path

"I almost put that arrow in that big head of yours." He complains, pulling out the improvised arrow that insisted on staying in the tree trunk, but he was already so used to brute force that the movement almost seemed natural.

Before the apocalypse, Daryl was a nothing. He simply followed his brother around like a dog and when he didn't do it he got a purple beating. Daryl didn't exactly grow up in a very nice place, in some drug-ridden, crime-ridden alley of some average city. This made him accustomed to two things, guilt and pain

"I said that you shouldn't followed me." He corrected, a bit more impatient this time, his grumpy voice raising his annoyance.

Daryl just wanted to find something to blame himself for Something he could fix, even if it was violent. But his impulsiveness didn't fit very well at the moment, things were changing so fast and so drastically, it left a bitter taste in Daryl's mouth. All he could think was to dispel all this useless sentimentality and go find someone to pay for what they did to Denise. Daryl knew it was wrong, but his blind loyalty wouldn't let him avance his emotions much. He should be grateful that the Saviors didn't messed with you, because then, they would be fucked.