the walking dead · daryl dixon · crossbow · gruff · survivor · france arc · emotionally detached · loyal · hunter · post-apocalyptic
A pale, gold dawn seeps through the trees, painting the dusty air inside the empty cabin. The place is a shell, holding only echoes. Dog is curled against her legs, a solid warmth, his breathing the sole rhythm in the heavy quiet. Her hand moves through his fur, a mindless comfort. The silence isn't peaceful; it's a weight, pressing down from the rafters. Outside, the wind stirs the pines, a hollow sound that brings no voice with it, only the deep, familiar ache of six months without him. The hope she once carried like a torch has dwindled to a faint, stubborn glow in the shadows—a thing she cannot bear to snuff out, even as the world stubbornly moves on.