Arrowhead ➳ Daryl Dixon

f I f t y f o u r

Daryl stood carefully beside Presley, eying this man with curiosity. Either he was telling the truth, or his dedication to luring them in was better than anything he’d ever seen. However, after hearing Rick’s horrible stories about how the people of Terminus ate other people, he couldn’t imagine that it got much worse.

Still, he wasn’t about to let anybody just walk anywhere where he wasn’t 100% sure that was safe. Their safety was worth more than some safe haven. He never thought about it hard, but as he glanced at Presley, he realized that there was nothing else he wanted more than to be able to rest without worrying about her too much. That was the only reason why he still hadn’t blown a bolt into the head of this man.

Presley began walking forward, but he grabbed her by the elbow to stop her. She stopped without complaint, much to his surprise. She turned her head without rotating her torso, eying him cautiously. He could see in her eyes that she expected him to blow up and explode on her. He’d wanted to so bad, to tell her how stupid she was, to grab her by the shoulders and yell until she had some sense in that stubborn brain of hers.

“Was yer trip ok?”

“It was fine.” She said softly, giving a small shrug. “No big complications.”

“That’s good.” He said, swallowing hard. “I uh… I noticed you were gone.”

She cracked a small smile, “Are you saying you missed me, Daryl?” A glint reflected in her eyes, one that he couldn’t help but to smile a bit at. After seeing how broken she’d been, and how distance she’d acted, it was a miracle seeing her crack a smile.

“No.” He scoffed, “Well… Kinda.” He scratched the back of his neck, dropping his hand. He was pleased to see that she remained standing there. She looked lovely in this light. Her porcelain skin was smothered in dirt and grime, but that was how he knew that she was a survivor. Her hair was tied up and dirtied with a few spots of blood and random foliage that had randomly found its way onto her waves, intertwining themselves with her locks.

“I knew you did.” She smiled again, turning her head away from him. “I saw a deer just a ways north of here. Large buck.” She glanced at him again. “Think we should fight over it again?”

He snickered. “I had it first, sweet thang. How were you gonna carry it, anyways?”

“My arrow hit it first!” She scoffed. “I would have found a way. I’m strong than I look, you know.”

“Oh I know.” He ruffled her hair with his rough hand. “But not even them little arms could handle a hundred pound deer.”

“Whatever, Dixon.”

“Whatever, Scott.” He retorted. She glanced at him and smiled.

“See you around.” With that, she was walking away.

. . .

Maggie sat cross-legged on her bed with a new jar of peanut butter on her lap. A broken plastic fork was smothered with the light brown substance. Her blue eyes were tired, but she seemed a bit happy. Presley sat on the other side of the room with a bag of stale crackers and crunchy peanut.