"𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎;
𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜
𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚗."
In which a girl and a cat
choose to live instead of survive.
THE WALKING DEAD
season three ✔️
seaso...
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It had been three weeks since Beth died. Adira wasn't exactly the same. She missed her. She was her best friend and her death brought her to a realization that anything can happen. Even to the good people... if there even were good people in this world.
Through the weeks, it felt like everyone treated her like a lost little puppy. Michonnes longing stares, Carol trying to make small talk, Tara asking if she wanted to listen to music, and even Daryl being nice, which was super weird.
She was sure everyone knew Koko was gone. It had been over a month and no sign of him. Maybe that's why they were walking on eggshells around her.
The group was tired of walking. They moved around a lot. They'd find a car, use it until it ran out of gas, and then walk again. There was no destination, Rick wanted to find a safe place where they could stay for a few days. But eventually they would start to move again.
The wound on her arm had healed. It was just a scar now. You could easily see the teeth marks, so she kept it covered with a red piece of fabric. What good would it do to tell them she had been bitten and survived. She didn't want Sasha knowing, she'd hate her for it. They'd all hate her for it.
She kept walking, no matter how hard it got. They were all covered in a thin layer of sweat. The sun was burning down on them with no mercy. The arrows on her back were getting heavier by the second.
It was now that she was thankful for Rosita doing her hair. It was longer now, reaching her waist. She didn't cut when Koko or Beth died. What good would that do? She wasn't the same girl from the tribe. That girl died a long time ago.
Rosita had braided the front pieces of her hair back and pulled it into a ponytail. They found a clear water lake a week ago and washed the blood from her face. Now the small scar running down her eye was as visible as the one running along the edge of her scalp.
She still had the note tucked into the pocket of the shorts she found in a store. The jeans were getting seriously uncomfortable and they were hard to move around in. The cargo shorts had pockets shut with buttons, keeping the note safe. She still didn't know when it would be opened.
Adira's throat was dryer than the desert. The flask that had been attached to the loop of her shorts was empty and on the side of the road. Why would she carry that if it had no use.
"Here." Daryl held half full flask out to her. He must've seen her reach for the flask that was no longer on her hip. "You look like you're about to die."
"I'm fine." She shook her head and continued walking.
His hand was still outstretched with the bottle. "I'm not carryin' you when you pass out." He muttered with a thick southern accent. Adira completely ignored him. It was his water bottle, she had already drank her own. He grumbled out a few curse words before grabbing her wrist and forcefully putting the bottle in her hand.
