○amc's |THE WALKING DEAD|○
• CARL GRIMES X BLACK! OC •
Queerplationic relationship
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He didn't like the feeling that came over him when he saw the man stop his car and step out onto the dirt path.
It made him feel the same way that the dead did...
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If Daryl had wanted to, he could have dragged Maud back anytime he wanted, but instead of insisting she return to the walls, he leaned back, hitting the bark behind him, lighting a cigarette.
Maud took that as an opportunity to rest her breath, falling short and her calves aching, sitting down, allowing her gaze to follow Daryl long drags longingly.
Her mouth caught in a question.
Lips wavering.
The answer came without her having to ask, the box Daryl had in his hands landing in her lap along with a lighter.
Under his scrutiny, Maud lit up her eyes, cast down as if she knew he was silently scolding her.
In comparison to Daryl, whose drags were long and chest soft, Maud was an amateur.
Chest spasming, eyes watering, yet she braved the pain anyway, socking it in.
Maud didn't count on running into Daryl.
Or the peace had been struck up between them.
A few times, Maud could tell that Daryl had wanted to say something. His head shaking once, twice, his arms going up in an arch, scuffing at his jeans before falling back to his side.
Maud looked around, half expecting a net to pull up from under her like one of the many rabbits in Daryl's snares.
Trapping her.
Hauling her back home, but no, Daryl would just fidget and settle again.
So Maud stayed put, picking at the grass, her cigarette pressed between her lips until it burned down to her fingertips.
Maud allowed herself to feel it, grasping at her hands, the pain clutching at her in a deep need to be acknowledged, to be felt, and so for the first time since saying goodbye to Wren, turning her back on mettle high gates, Maud let herself delve into it, soaking it up.
Maud didn't want to move, but from the sound of chaos in the distance, her absence must have been noticed.
Maud shook her head to stop herself from turning towards the sounds.
No doubt it was Carl.
Daryl didn't feel the need to go help; Maud assumed he was fine, maybe even with Rick.
Maud guessed that she had an hour's head start, one in which she intended to keep, but her legs, sore from lack of use, protested. Finding a sense of comfort in their stagnant normal.
Daryl, seeing Maud, shifted to stand threw the squirrels he had hunted down at her feet.
They were small, little flittery things that wouldn't go far back home, but for Maud, if she rationed them out, could last her a week.
