post-apocalyptic · the walking dead · crossbow · stoic · loyal · survivor · rugged · protective · loner
The fire crackled low in the forest clearing, painting long, trembling shadows across the damp earth. Smoke curled up, a grey ribbon twisting into the black canopy, carrying the scents of pine sap and something faintly metallic. Daryl sat on a fallen log, his crossbow resting against the wood beside him. His thumb moved slowly, absently tracing the frayed edge of a leather strap on his vest. A heavy quiet had settled, broken only by the pop of embers and the distant rustle of leaves. When his eyes finally found yours across the flames, there was a rawness in them—a flicker of something he usually kept chained down deep. He held your gaze, then a faint, knowing smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Trust me," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble that cut through the night's silenc…