@wexarethewalkingxdead gets a plotted starter
Leaving the farm was one of the hardest things Daryl has ever had to do.
It wasn't about the safety that it offered - there'll be other places like it out there, they just have to find it. It wasn't an emotional connection like he knows it was for Hershel, for Maggie, for Beth. No, it was about the same thing that this stay at the farm has always been about for him - it was about Sophia.
They were there to have a base while they tried to find her. They were there to organize a search for her. They were there so she would have somewhere safe to go back to once they found her.
Except they never did. He had days to track her down, and he failed. Now she was alone out there, the farm was overrun, and they were miles away. Her mom was miles away, having had to leave behind her daughter. He can't imagine how hard that must have been for her. He's honestly impressed that she even could. He supposes the choice being death makes things easier - at least while she's alive, she can keep searching.
It's what Daryl told himself when he had to speed away from the farm, and it's what he still does every time they leave. It might as well be just habit by now, he knows - the odds of her being alive when so many walkers were drawn to those woods, when it's been so long, are low. The odds of them finding her so far away from where she got lost are even lower. But he still keeps trying, and knows he always will, just in case.
There are plenty of opportunities to keep an eye out for her, with them being on the road. Supplies are growing more and more limited, and each time they go out scavenging, they seem to come back with less.
At least it provides good opportunities for him to work with Carol on everything she's learning. He likes spending time with her, and these little scavenging trips are good opportunities to put their lessons into practice. It just makes sense, he figures, to invite her along. No one argues, and that's good enough for him.
They're on a house in the outskirts of a small town when he notices it. He's scavenging in the kitchen (a few cans of beans, a box of hot chocolate, and.a couple of packets of Oreos) when the corner of his eye catches something out of place. There's a handprint on the edge of doorframe leading to the garden, like someone held onto it as they turned the corner. It's small enough that it could easily be a child's. It isn't blood, but rather dirt, which is certainly a good sign for the welfare of whoever left it, but it doesn't help him figure out when it was made.
He steps outside, just in case.
He kneels by the grass in the garden, just in case.
It takes him just a few seconds to spot it - the slight disturbance on the leaves that have gathered over the grass, like something small and light has passed through. Something small and light with two feet. Like a child.
It could be anyone. This isn't the forest by the farm, a small, distant piece of land where they had just lost her. Odds are that it's not her. It doesn't mean that he's not going to look, though.
He ducks inside for a moment, not wanting to raise his voice while he's outside. "Hey, Carol!" he calls. "Come out here a minute. And don't step on the grass. Wanna show you somethin'."
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
janainaart
discoholicmusic
jacobvanloon
