ELEANOR . NEGAN

118.

It wasn't wise what Eleanor decided to do. But in moments like these where she is desperate for some calamity? She had to.

Twigs snapped under her feet; a sound so natural to her as she kept her eyes up and alert. Her mind was stuck in a deep reverie of what-ifs but this time, they were the scariest what-ifs she has ever dealt with. There was a protruding problem and Elle thought— knew —that she had to go against Daryl's clear instructions of not being a martyr.

The time wasn't ready yet. If she wandered off into the forest by herself with just a knife? She'd be royally fucked. She vouched in her mind that she wouldn't go out that way.

So, she kept walking. She followed along bushes and trees and used the forest line as camouflage and protection. Eleanor couldn't leave them so she sticked close. Closer enough to hear gun shots and screaming, but further away that they'd struggle to find her if they had to.

Of course, that didn't apply to one fucking person.

"I'm not in the mood right now." Elle barked, tugging her knife closer as if it was a form of comfort. Sinister at that. "Please, just give me some space—"

"Nah."

She groaned. "Daryl, I'm not fucking about. Give me space—"

"Nah."

If she got cut off one more time, she might jab her knife in her own temple.

"Daryl," She pinched her nose in clear annoyance but the redneck didn't get the hint, but when does he ever? "I just need time to think."

"I kno' ya better than ya do." He admitted, following after her even when her footsteps sped up. "Eleanor, use ya words—"

"No."

"Ya just used one."

"You're such a prick."

She sped up, he followed faster.

"Eleanor!" He yelled. "Just speak to me." She ignored him. "Ellie," this time, he reached forward and grabbed the woman by her wrist; pulling with a force that nearly dislocated her shoulder.

But once he saw her turn around and saw the red-rimmed eyes and burst-out cheeks, he knew something was wrong. Beyond than just missing her family. Beyond a lot of things.

"Fuckin' hell." He mumbled. "What happened? Did—" He didn't even have words to understand or describe why she was the slobbering mess now. "Shit."

"You weren't there when I talked to the conductor, was you?" Daryl shook his head, a clear no. "Right, so you have zero fucking clue who the warden is?"

"Nah." He let go of her. "What's goin' on?"

Exasperated, she frowned. "The warden is- he's a leader. Not above Pamela, and not above Hornsby, but he's a leader."

"Nothin' we haven't dealt with befor'."

"Yeah, that's the problem." Elle wiped anyway any salty evidence from her eyes and looked back at Daryl. "He uses scare tactics to get what he wants. He's confident, strong — thinks he's some self-acclaimed God because he's the guy who does the dirty business. He decides who lives, and who dies. And worst of all, how."