𝐆𝐎𝐃'𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘
❝NATURE KNOWS NO KING.❞ in which the hunter meets the princess and learns to maneuver their ways through the world while dealing with the demons of their pasts
THE WALKING DEAD
(daryl dixon x fem!oc)
seasons one...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
She woke up the next day not knowing where she was.
That happened a lot, since the farm. She would wake up in a daze, the silence eerie and unsettling as she got her bearings. It was hard some days, to get up and move on with the fact that every time she closed her eyes she saw the events that led to those moments. The farm, the separation, the winter, and the promise she made all those weeks ago.
It was that promise that got her out of bed those days.
It was that same promise that woke her up well before the rest of the group. She stared at the ceiling of the room she had slept in the night before, the group having found a house relatively close to the Prison to stay in for one final night while they planned. Carl, Lori, and Rick all slept peacefully beside her, the only sounds being Lori soft snores and Rick's muttering.
She turned on her side, adjusting so she could look at their sleeping forms. Lori took the bed, of course, while the rest of them spread out in their sleeping bags on the floor. She traced Carl's face with her eyes, smiling softly as he crinkled his nose. She had fallen asleep early last night, and from the look of the sky from the bedroom window it was already six in the morning. She slept a whole ten hours, a feat she hadn't accomplished in God only knows how long.
She got up when she heard rustling from the room beside hers. She got up quietly, slinking her blanket over her shoulders as she left the room. She only took a single step outside the room when the neighboring door swung open, revealing a sleepy Daryl Dixon. The two stood in silence as they both closed their doors with soft clicks; a lazy, sleepy smile forming on her lips.
"Morning," She whispered. He nodded back to her, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stretched out his back. His hair was sticking up every which way, his feet covered in a thick pair of socks. "Why are you up so early?" She asked as she led the way downstairs, the man following close behind her.
"Couldn't sleep." He said simply, going straight to his pack in the corner of the trashed living room. He grabbed out that same poncho he had worn the day before, tossing it over his shoulders to rectify the chill he had woken up with. "Thinking about that Prison you and Rick were talking about." She nodded, watching as he sat on the dusty couch, tying his steel toed boots. He stood then, once again stretching out his aching joints before grabbing his crossbow from behind his bag. "Wanna go get some water from the stream? I'm out." He rustled the metal canteen he clipped to one of his belt loops. She nodded, grabbing her own bottle and weapons before the two of them entered into the foggy morning air.
They walked in relative silence to the stream, which wasn't that far from the house. It was the same stream that ran beside the Prison, which made the gears in her head start turning. When her family had moved to Georgia following her parents' divorce, her father had bought a barren chunk of land. It was there that he had built their home and raised several heads of cattle. He also planted extensive fields, which he would then turn into profit after harvesting season. He had always hated the quick-paced life in the city he had met her mother in, so Madeline assumed the farm was his way of recovering the person he had been before everything.
