Grief can feel like an insurmountable weight. It's the fragile thread of hope for what lies ahead that offers us the strength to navigate our pain; envisioning a future where joy can coexist with our sorrow.
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The loss of Sage and Tatum's found f...
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At some point in the night, holding on to the last warmth of the glowing embers, Sage's eyes forced themselves shut for some much-needed rest. Tatum was by their side, getting what looked to be the best sleep of her life. Her soft snores bring a small smile to Sage's face. It's good someone is getting sleep.
Daryl is first on watch, sunken between the ground and a sturdy tree with a loose grip on his crossbow. His eyes scan over the group, eventually landing on the siblings sleeping just across from him. He's generally not fond of new members, but something about the Burkes feels like a chance to make sure no one feels what it's like to lose a sibling. Daryl is like an uncle to the kids: Carl, Sophia, Beth, Judith, and now Tatum. He's a simple guy. All he needs is some good grub and his alone time with the rustling leaves.
The trusty security system of string and cans is disturbed. So much for his quiet time. Daryl pushes off the tree to stand up, lifting his crossbow towards the noise. He grunts, seeing it's only a lone walker. It takes its rightful place on the forest floor. He swiftly retrieves his bolt from its skull, hoping for some peace.
He notices Sage is sitting up, the noise pulling them from their fleeting unconsciousness.
"I'll take watch. You've been up for a while," Sage insists. Not like I can actually sleep. Might as well do something useful. The struggle to quiet their mind is way too depressing to witness behind eyelids. At least this way the trees can keep them company.
Daryl ignores them as he passes to sit back down. He grunts as he crouches, his arm flexing to lower himself to the grass. Still, no word as he places his crossbow in his lap. Sage sits down on the opposite side, covering the other direction with their hypervigilant gaze.
Sage's gentle voice breaks the silence. "What's keeping you up?"
"Mind your business, woman," his cold voice snaps.
Seriously, what's his deal?
They roll their eyes, picking at a rock cemented into the dirt. "Not a woman, but OK." He takes a moment.
"Huh? I don't get it."
The irritated tone isn't surprising to Sage. Whether it's because he's a bigoted asshole or genuinely confused, they have no clue. From what they can tell, Daryl is just a grumpy loner. Annoying, but mostly harmless.
After a beat, they explain. "It means different things to different people."
"For me, I have never fit into one gender category. We all fall on a spectrum and I'm somewhere in the middle. Being called a girl or woman doesn't fully encompass how I feel and choose to express myself. I don't always use 'she,' either, just so you know."
Without seeing him, they have no gauge for his reaction. Does he think they're batshit? Is he ignorant of the inner workings of queer expression? Likely. Their eyes trail to the stars so graciously lighting the moonless sky, feeling a little relief by at least telling someone that.
