𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

ch. XLIV - 《humpty dumpty》

oOo

It was gonna hurt like a motherfucker. Diana wouldn't be the only one coming out of this deliberate falling out unscathed. And without her, he saw no sense in staying; he was barely tolerated by the others. Imagine the shunning when they catch wind of what he hadn't done yet.

Daryl tightened his grip on the reins of the horse the Greenes had lent him, glaring at nothing in particular, his eyes keen on his surroundings.

Why wasn't there a way to do it without having to be a complete asshole to her? Easier if he could walk up to her, tell her she shouldn't associate herself with a piece of shit like him and have her nod and shake his hand one last time, relieved that their sham of a friendship has come to an end.

He huffed fondly, lip quirking; she'd never accept that. She saw too much good in him. He could bet that if given enough time, she woulda found something in Merle worth salvaging. If only his rotten brother had stuck around.

Daryl had also given that situation a whole lot of thought; he figured Merle hadn't come back to the Quarry simply because he'd seen no profit for himself down the line.

He had come to terms with that. He'd left before, no reason why he wouldn't leave now, injured or not. It was stupid of him; he could die of his wounds, the moron. He had been angry at first; hurt, but Merle was Merle. He'd do anything to ensure his own survival, even if it meant leaving his brother in a hostile environment.

Maybe he'd try to find Merle when Sophia was safe with her mother and they couldn't see a reason to keep him around. Yeah, he'd probably do that.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead, scratching his brow in the process. He oughta clear his head. He'd found Sophia's rag doll down by a creek before, and his purpose was finding the little girl, but it was hard to keep his mind on track when it was up to the brim with other thoughts.

The horse stopped abruptly, braying and stomping on the ground, and Daryl noticed a snake wriggling in the leaves right ahead. He breathed a string of curses and tried to hold onto the reins as the horse bucked under him.

The little son of a bitch uncoiled and jumped at them, spooking the horse. Daryl lost his grip and tumbled backward, right off the horse and down a cliff-side, rolling down the rocky flats, bumping and bruising every body part on the way, finally landing with a splash in a shallow river.

He had hit his head right at the top, a pain so acute that he only took notice of the rest of his sore body once he was at the bottom. His right shoulder and hip. Both his forearms and the back of his neck, not to mentions his knees. But his side stung something special, reminding him of when he got stabbed.

His hand came back bloody. He hissed and looked down at the damage; he saw the head of one of his arrows protruding from little below kidney level on his left side. From his quick, pained assessment, it didn't look like it had pierced anything vital, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch.

Daryl dragged himself through the water, hissing at every wrong movement until he reached the shallow shore where he'd found the rag doll. He could feel the blood running warmly down his side, mixing easily with the water. He unsheathed his knife and cut the sleeves off his shirt; lucky him for choosing to wear sleeves that day. He wrapped the fabric around his abdomen and around the arrow shaft to secure it in place. The last thing he needed was that son of a bitch to move around and tear through him completely.

He briefly wondered if there was any chance of Rick or the others stumbling upon him since they were also out looking for Sophia. The answer was a round negative for three reasons. First, the plan had been that each group sticks to their given perimeter, second, they knew he was capable on his own, so they wouldn't come close to where he was, third, he'd told them he might only come back the next morning, so no one would notice him missing.