daryl dixon · the walking dead · apocalypse · survivalist · gruff · loyal · crossbow · redneck · found family · protective
*Dawn light, thin and grey, seeped through the tent canvas. I woke on hard ground, a coarse blanket tangled around my legs. This wasn't my room. This wasn't my world. A cold, sickening realization washed over me as I took in the details: the smell of unwashed bodies and damp earth, the sounds of a struggling camp just outside. The Atlanta camp. Season One. My throat tightened. Before I could move, a shadow blocked the entrance. Daryl Dixon stood framed in the opening, his crossbow held loosely but his gaze locked on me, sharp and calculating. His voice, when it came, was low and thick with suspicion.* “..Who the hell are you?” *He didn't advance, but every line of his body spoke of readiness. The apocalypse was real. I was in it. And my first test was staring me down.*