' ᶤ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ˡᵒᶳᵗ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵗᵒᵒ !

     “My people,” Daryl repeated, unsure why she got that look in her eyes, like a deer in headlights. He knew that meeting a new group of people would take trust on her behalf, but without that act, she would be a goner. No one made it alone for very long anymore. He shrugged lightly in answer to her, “If that’s something that ya’d want. Obviously we’re willin’ to take on people who can ‘elp us out an’ you seem quite capable.” Scratching his back, he tilted his head, “Was that a yes? Yer interested in travellin’ back with me?”

“Yer trynna tell me that bite is four years old?” He snarls, tightening his grip on the handle of his hunting knife. He maintains the gap he’s created between them, eyes narrowed && mind racing. Despite the intensity of the outbreak, Daryl has managed to survive for nearly two decades      there is no way in hell he is about to jeopardize surviving another by trusting a girl he’s only just met.

            there was an unspoken trust between the girls that never seemed to waver.  not             when things got hard, not when mistakes were made.  the truth  was,  beth  had             no  good  reason  to  question  the  decisions  ellie  made  for  both  their  sake.             though the songbird had learned all too well how much of a weakness  trusting             people could be in the world they were now forced to live in, it wasn’t as easy a             task for her to build up those same walls.  as hardened as she became over the             years, there were still parts of her that were still so very soft.

            ❝  I know.  it’s just ––– it was nice t’ stop runnin’ for a while.  ❞

            her voice was gentle, apologetic.  it wasn’t like beth not to argue her  point,  but             with no words that could  possibly  change ellie’s mind, she found it easier  just             to give in.  rising to her feet, the songbird  grabbed  her  journal  and  knife  from             the bedside table before slipping them both into  their  individual  pockets.   it’d             been  days  since  she  even  touched  her  knife,  but  despite  her   feelings  of             uncertainty, that familiar heaviness weighing down the denim  of  her  jeans  felt             right.  safe.

Hearing that initial answer – a lot – made Daryl’s muscles tense automatically, get on the defensive in case he would become one of her numbers. One of her A LOT. “None taken,” he grumbled, used to being lumped into one generalised group or another, and, generally, the assumption about him being incorrect. He noted her gesture of putting the knife away and relaxes himself, then furrows his brows, disgusted that people – it didn’t matter if it was men or not – would still pray on women, sexual manner or not. “Understandable,” he said, his weapons away, mimicking her stand-down actions, “Though I can promise you ain’t got no need to fear that from me or my people.” She seemed capable, like she would be an asset to them.

He ignored the look that the girl gave him; he was used to it by now. People who had been out here enough, who killed more walkers than they could count … they didn’t understand the point of this question. But this disbelief, it spoke volumes. He didn’t bother to answer her question, never one to waste words, just nodded to affirm that he understood her experience with the walkers. He just continued with the questions. “How many people have you killed?”

    ❝ I thought we could SPLIT IT. Or save it, maybe. ❞ It’s not much. Not ENOUGH — it never is, not really; not when they’re fighting for their lives every second of every day. But he’s used to it, to being hungry, and half of what they have left isn’t enough to make a DIFFERENCE, anyways. ❝ You take it, though. Just HURRY. We’ll need to move soon. ❞ Sun setting, the forest doesn’t provide ideal shelter — ( not that attempts haven’t been made before. )

Watching the girl fumble with the now empty bottle, Daryl recalled their own times when supplies were short, when they didn’t know if they’d find more water, more food … anything to help them through so they wouldn’t loose anyone. Though she didn’t have that problem … there was only her. He didn’t get any bad vibes from her, but … still, if he was even to offer her any help of any kind … the questions had worked so far. “Yup,” he agreed, “Finding things is harder and harder.” He kicked a lid that was lying on the ground, watching it spin before asking, “How many walkers have you killed?”

Daryl gave the girl a puzzled looked as he yanked the arrow out, wiping the bits of brain off on his trouser leg. “No?” he half-asked as he answered. When he went on runs, he always kept tabs on everyone he was with. And of course everyone had to know the whereabouts of their camp. Roaming was exhausting, and being alone stupid. Strength, he’d come to found, lay in numbers. In family. “Are ya out on a run with folks from your group or …” he waved around with the arrow, “What are ya doin’ ‘ere exactly?”

Even as he froze, Joel could feel his grip on the gun tightening. Years upon years of just trying to survive had conditioned him to distrust anyone around him. Loss had taught him that lesson all too well. Sarah, Tess, Ellie, all of them had been ripped away from him, reminding him of what happened when he actually let someone into what remained of his life. 

“’lright, take it easy…” He mumbled, forcing his grip on the gun to loosen slightly as he carefully placed it down on a nearby desk. Worse comes to worse, he knew he can retrieve it quickly. Looking over his shoulder slightly, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the voice sounded familiar, even if he couldn’t place it.