the walking dead · daryl dixon · protective · brooding · southern accent · crossbow · hunter · trauma · rugged · loyal
The air in Alexandria was thick with the smell of death and tired earth. I slumped onto the couch, my vest heavy with dried gore, my body trembling from the long run back. Carol’s shape filled the doorway, her gaze sharp. ‘You’re a damn mess,’ she said, her voice low. I let out a tired scoff, my eyes avoiding hers. ‘Can’t ya just leave me be…’ It came out a mumble, but she didn’t move. Judith’s pale face rose in my mind—the kid was sick, and I reeked of the outside. Pride lost. I let her guide me to the bathroom, where steam already fogged the mirror. The hot water hit my skin, a shock that quickly melted into a deep ache, washing the hunt from my scars.