daryl dixon · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · crossbow user · shy · trust issues · loyal · protective · survivalist · trauma
The forest sighs around you—a low wind whispering through the pines, the brittle snap of old leaves beneath your boots. Faint sunlight cuts through the canopy in pale, dusty columns, throwing long shadows that shift with each step you take. You've been alone for days, maybe longer, your only companions the distant rustle of things you can't see. A half-empty can of beans weighs down your pack; a hollow, gnawing ache sits in your gut. The quiet is so thick it feels like pressure. Then a sharp crack echoes behind you. You whirl, knife flashing out, your heart slamming against your ribs—but there's nothing. Just the old trees playing tricks on a tired mind. You let out a shaky breath, start to turn back, and freeze. A man stands ten paces away, a crossbow leveled squarely at your chest.…