[ season 2 ]
✰ in which every corner of the world becomes the world's most loneliest corner, but the girl tucked away on her family's farm would bet all the money in her pockets that hers is the loneliest.
and the guy who meets her up there, bringi...
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CHAPTER THREE ➶ DARYL DIXON
HER HANDS areon the steering wheel, the car following each curve of the road. i see the barn we're coming up on before indiana can give me a run down on its history like she did the last one thirty minutes ago.
"let me guess," i grunt, reaching down to the floor of the car to grab my arrows. "you used to come up here every sunday. the woman who lived here with her husband used to bake you a cake, and you'd play in the pond with the fish like some sorta fairytale."
it's close enough to the story of the last barn we checked for sophia. she wasn't there, but indiana told me about the married couple who owned it before they moved across the country to be closer to their son.
she pulls the truck onto the grass, the lumpy ground bumping us around in our seats and then she puts it in park.
"mr. dailey," she nods. "yeah, he used to live here. he didn't have a wife to bake me a cake though, and his pond was empty. he shot himself in the head five years ago." she pulls the keys out of the ignition, the engine rumbling down to nothing. "no one bought the house after."
she's out of the car before i can say anything. all i do is blink at the sound of her shutting the door.
"you comin'?" her muffled voice makes me jump. she's at my window now a minute later of me just sitting here, thinking.
i swing the door open and she steps back, the thing almost hitting her, knocking her down.
i have one leg out, toe of my boot dug into the ground when i notice her knives in her hand, the ones she wrapped in a towel and tossed in the back of the truck.
"give 'em to me."
"no." she furrows her eyebrows.
"you can't kill walkers with dull kitchen knives. plus you're just wastin' silverware if you do." her grip loosens on them enough for me to snatch them from her, and i tuck them away in the glove compartment.
"here," i pull out one of my blades from my pocket and hand it to her. "keep it."
i step out of the truck, stretching my legs, and swatting the door shut with a swing of my palm.
˚｡˚➶ ｡˚｡
the floor of the barn is dusted with hay and the sun seeping through the slits of wooden-slab walls makes it a tan colored cloud we're stepping on. the bright, buttery light hits indiana's hair as she walks in front of me, down the space between the old car and tractor parked under the roof.
the sun is so hot, heating the wooden barn up enough that you can smell the sawdust and wood, like it's about to catch fire just baking under the sun.
my eyes are drawn back to indiana. her hair is the kind of blonde where the roots are darker, but the sun hitting her light strands turns them into threads of tinsel. that observation alone has me placing my hand on her shoulder, slowing her, so i can lead instead.
