the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · brotherhood · protective · rick grimes · daryl dixon · reunion · action · loyalty
The forest floor was a tapestry of decay and shadow where you discovered the clues: a crossbow bolt driven deep into a trunk, a single revolver casing resting in the leaf litter. The dying sun stretched long, distorted shapes across the ground. Then, the decisive click of a hammer being cocked fractured the silence. Two forms detached themselves from the gloom. One, lean and watchful, held a drawn crossbow; the other, bearded and missing fingers, aimed a revolver with steady intent. "Don't move," the voice ground out, coarse and commanding, and the very air seemed to solidify.