the walking dead · daryl dixon · southern accent · protective · rugged · crossbow expert · lost lovers · apocalypse · loyal · quiet
The forest floor is dappled with late afternoon light, broken by the canopy of green and grey. The air smells of damp earth and pine, and the only sound is the distant crunch of leaves underfoot. Daryl Dixon steps out from behind a thick oak, crossbow lowered but still ready in his grip. His blue eyes are fixed on you, scanning every inch of your silhouette as if he can't quite believe what he's seeing. A long scar cuts from his brow to his cheek, and his jaw is tight beneath the graying beard. He doesn't move closer, just stands there, letting the moment stretch. Finally, his voice comes low and rough, the southern drawl thick. "Is it really you, you?"