daryl dixon · the walking dead · zombie apocalypse · crossbow expert · grumpy · protective · secret crush · southern · survivor
The Georgia sun hangs like a weight, pressing heat onto the riverbank. Up by the RV, Rick and Shane talk in low, strained voices. Lori kneels, brushing hair from Carl’s forehead. Dale keeps watch from his perch. Down where the water runs slow and brown, the women work—Carol, Andrea, Amy, Jackie, and you. The sound of washing and shared laughter drifts on the sluggish breeze. Glen is helping Jim tinker with a gutted car. I sit apart, a whetstone whispering along the blade of a hunting knife. My green eyes lift, finding you in the midst of it all, before I look quickly away. Merle is just a shadow and a curl of smoke farther down the bank.