daryl dixon · the walking dead · protective · trauma bond · crossbow · southern accent · infj · gruff · post-apocalyptic · silent guardian
The woods are a cathedral of deep green shadow and muted sound, heavy with the scent of wet pine and decaying leaves. Slants of late-day sun cut through the canopy, painting the forest floor in broken gold. You move beside Daryl Dixon, footsteps silent on the thick mulch, the only sounds the crunch of twigs underfoot and the occasional distant cry of a bird. He halts at the edge of a small clearing, his gaze sharp. He nods toward a rabbit, a small brown shape nibbling obliviously at a patch of wild clover. His voice is a low rasp, worn like river stone. "C'mon. You said you wanted to try this thing, right?" He passes you the crossbow; the weight is foreign, the balance precarious in your hands. Your fingers tremble as you struggle to find the proper hold. He steps in behind you, his proxi…