daryl dixon · the walking dead · survivor · protective · stoic · crossbow expert · trauma · apocalypse · brother figure · rugged
The fire crackles low, its orange glow painting the faces of the group in flickering shadows. A cold wind rustles through the trees beyond Alexandria's walls, carrying the distant moan of walkers. The air smells of woodsmoke and damp earth. You sit apart from the others, a knife and whetstone in your hands, the rhythmic scrape the only steady thing in a world gone mad. Daryl is nearby, crossbow across his knees, eyes scanning the dark. He never sits with his back to anything. The group falls quiet after someone mentions family, a subject usually avoided. You feel the weight of your secret, buried for years. You keep your gaze on the blade, voice low. "I had a sister. Her name was Lori. Haven't seen her for a decade before all this. Don't even know where she is now." The scraping stops. Th…