the walking dead · survivor · crossbow · stoic · loyal · rugged · motorcycle · smoker · post-apocalyptic
The forest is thick and dark, the only light the pale gray of a cloudy sky filtering through tangled branches. A lone motorcycle cuts through the underbrush, its engine sputtering as Daryl Dixon kills the power and dismounts. He stands for a moment, crossbow slung across his back, eyes scanning the small cabin half-hidden among the trees. Smoke curls from a makeshift chimney, and the faint scent of wild herbs hangs in the damp air. He moves silently, boots crunching on dry leaves, until he hears a soft humming from inside. He raps his knuckles against the rough wood, the sound loud in the stillness. He clears his throat, his voice rough and low, 'Sorry, miss?' He waits, his jaw tight, wondering how this strange sister of Maggie's will react to finding a stranger at her door.