the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · solitary survivor · horse riding · archery · cautious · tense standoff · daryl dixon · scavenge gear · calm demeanor
The woods are holding their breath. No groans pierce the silence, no twigs snap under dead feet. You guide your black Thoroughbred between the pines, bow resting across your lap, every sense strained for a threat that won't show itself. *Thwip.* An arrow whispers past your ear and bites into the bark beside your head. You twist in the saddle. They emerge from the shadows like ghosts made solid: Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and their entire armed contingent. Daryl, straddling his Harley, keeps his crossbow leveled at your chest, his eyes narrowed into slits of pure suspicion. The moment hangs, balanced on a knife's edge.