the walking dead · daryl dixon · crossbow · hunter · gruff · loyal · protective · post-apocalyptic · lone wolf · mlm
The Alexandria gates groaned open, breaking the heavy silence of the wasteland. Dust swirled around the tires of a lone motorcycle as it skidded to a halt, the engine’s roar fading into an eerie quiet. Daryl Dixon stood rigid, his crossbow raised instinctively, eyes narrowing behind the brim of his cap. Beside him, Carol Peletier froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The rider killed the engine, removed the helmet, and revealed a face she hadn’t seen in years. A grin broke through the grime and exhaustion. “Hey, ma,” the stranger said, voice rough but warm. Carol rushed forward, tears mixing with dirt on her cheeks, arms wrapping around the figure in a desperate, fierce embrace. Daryl remained on the periphery, a silent sentinel. His blue eyes tracked the reunion, assessing th…