The Edge of Survival

Chapter Three

Over the next few weeks, Nora and Daryl fell into an unspoken routine. Their days moved in near silence—he taught her to shoot a bow, and she, in return, helped him learn to gather safely. They didn't speak much. It was mostly Nora filling the silence with idle chatter—about the plants, the horses, the old world—but Daryl hardly responded. He was always a few steps ahead or behind, his presence a silent weight, like a shadow that never quite left her side.
She didn't mind his silence, at least not outwardly. She could tell by the way his eyes flicked toward her when she spoke that he was listening, even if he didn't acknowledge it. Still, there were days when the quiet between them felt like a wall. She'd tell herself it didn't matter—Daryl wasn't like Glenn or Maggie or Lori. He wasn't someone who needed to be close. He just existed in his own orbit.

But every day, he was there. Like clockwork.
The lessons started early in the mornings, when the air was still cool, and the dew clung to the grass, before he began looking for Sophia. Daryl would take her to the open field beyond the farm, far from the others, where they could practice without interruption. He rarely spoke unless it was to correct her form or give her brief instructions.

"Draw slower," he'd grunt as she fumbled with the bowstring. "You're pullin' too fast."
Nora would nod, adjusting her stance, feeling the weight of the bow in her hands. Every day, she got a little better, the movements becoming more natural. The tension in the bowstring no longer felt foreign, and the release of the arrow no longer sent her stumbling. It was all muscle memory now, and each arrow flew straighter, landing closer to the target.

Daryl, for his part, was a patient teacher, though he never offered praise. His corrections were blunt, his instructions curt. But he never walked away, never left her alone to figure it out. In his quiet, distant way, he was present. His rough voice, low and gravelly, would occasionally drift over to her as he adjusted her stance or pointed out where she had gone wrong.

"Don't tense up. You'll miss every time."

"Loosen your grip."

"Don't pull so damn hard."

Nora's gathering lessons, on the other hand, were quieter still. Daryl had been reluctant at first, insisting he didn't need help, but over time, he had begrudgingly followed her into the woods, watching as she pointed out edible plants, berries, and herbs. She taught him how to identify different leaves and roots, which ones were safe and which ones could kill you if you even so much as touched them.

"That's nightshade," she explained one afternoon, crouching beside a small patch of dark purple berries. "One bite, and it'll stop your heart."

Daryl grunted in acknowledgment, his gaze flicking from the berries to her. He was always like that—silent, watching, taking in everything but never saying much.

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One afternoon, while they were out in the woods, Nora was showing Daryl how to identify edible mushrooms. She was explaining how to avoid the poisonous ones when she noticed Daryl's attention had shifted, his eyes distant, lost in thought.

"You listening?" she teased, glancing up at him.
Daryl blinked, coming back to the present. "Yeah," he muttered, though his voice was quieter than usual.

Nora stood up, brushing her hands off on her jeans, feeling the weight of the silence that followed. Something about Daryl seemed heavier today, more guarded than usual. She was about to let it go when curiosity got the better of her.

"You ever gather stuff with your family? Back before all this?"

Daryl's jaw tightened, and for a second, she thought he wasn't going to answer. But then, in his gruff, reluctant way, he muttered, "Nah. Merle never cared for none of that."