OUTLIVE.
❝The dead were never the enemy.
It was the living. ❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
DARYL DIXON.
BOOK TWO of the LANCASTER SAGA.
[ SEASONS 4 - 6 ]
*****
*I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. I simply write to write. Astrid, any addi...
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[ xliii. the sorry sight before her ]
august 3rd, 2012
➸➸➸
IN THE DEPTHS OF exhaustion, with her adrenaline now settled, Astrid Lancaster found herself staring dazedly into the yawning chasm of sleeplessness. She was unsure if it was even midnight, or well past it. It was one conversation—or interrogation—after another, leaving her seated at a worn kitchen table. Across from her sat Rick and Michonne, while Bailey, who should have been tucked in bed, rested in Astrid's lap. Stubbornly refusing to leave Astrid's side, Bailey had succumbed to sleep, cradled in her arms.
Daryl settled down beside her and slid a bowl of soup her way. "Eat up," He said.
Readjusting Bailey to one arm, Astrid obliged with a spoonful. She stole a glance to her right where Morgan, fatigued from his own exchanges, stood leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. Her gaze then drifted back to the center of the table, where the bloodied and worn map lay—the map that had guided her to her long-lost family. Its torn edges and stains revealed its frequent use, yet despite its wear, it had accomplished its purpose. That was all Astrid ever wanted.
Morgan eventually broke the silence and stepped forward with a faint smile. "You were right," He asserted, directing his words at Rick. "It wasn't over."
But Astrid could not tell if her leader even registered the sentiment. The recent events—Astrid's arrival and the night's grisly double homicide—had left Rick disheveled. He had not even bothered to change out of his blood-soaked clothes.
Still, it was not her place to judge. Astrid, absentmindedly brushing hair away from Bailey's eyes, drew her closer, gently resting her head against the child's. A look toward Carol, who was still awake in the living room, revealed internally to the Lancaster woman that Bailey had not likely been this relaxed in weeks. Perhaps even months.
A soothing hand began to trace Astrid's back, and she leaned into Daryl's comforting touch. His arm crept around her shoulders, drawing her nearer. She shivered against his body, prompting her hunter to intensify his gentle rubbing, as if attempting to coax some warmth back into her.
Finally, Rick spoke. "We'll talk more tomorrow," He decided. "You've been through hell and back to get here. You must be exhausted."
"I am," Astrid confessed, steel in her voice. "But I'd rather face the questions now. I need to understand this place and its people. Lay it all out. I can handle it."
Rick's lips tightened, and Astrid found it hard to ignore the trickle of blood seeping down his face. His own wounds had appeared to reopen. "Listen," He addressed slowly, deliberately. "I don't take chances anymore."
"You shouldn't," Astrid approved. "Not after everything we've been through. Rick, a bullet might have grazed my head, but it didn't erase my memories. Nothing can make me forget what this group has been through."
