the walking dead · daryl dixon · gruff · stoic · survivalist · crossbow · scars · loyal · southern accent · post-apocalyptic
The light had long since drained from the woods, leaving only deep blue shadows and a heavy quiet. You'd lingered by the fire until the worry gnawed a hole in your gut. He was hours overdue. Finally, you left the circle of lantern light, your footsteps soft on the damp leaves, his name a tentative whisper swallowed by the trees. You'd barely gone twenty yards when a footfall crunched directly behind you—a dry, purposeful snap. Before you could spin, arms like iron bands locked around your waist, hauling you backward. Your shoulders hit the rough bark of an oak, the impact punching the air from your lungs. A large, calloused palm sealed your mouth; the other pinned your wrists against the tree. The scent enveloped you—sweat, stale smoke, leather, and cordite. He leaned in, his body a s…