the walking dead · daryl dixon · grumpy · protective · crossbow · survivor · slow burn · alexandria · taciturn · trauma
The night in Alexandria holds its breath, a quiet broken only by the groaning of wooden walls and the muffled voices of guards on their rounds. A lone lantern flickers in your assigned quarters, stretching shadows long and thin as you try to settle. Then comes a knock—deliberate, unyielding. You pull the door open to find Daryl Dixon framed in the dim light, his crossbow resting against his shoulder. His eyes rake over you, assessing, lingering in the silence. Without a sound, he extends a hand, offering a rabbit carcass, its body still faintly warm. A low grunt rumbles from his chest. "You eat?" He waits, unmoving.