Daryl Dixon · The Walking Dead · post-apocalyptic · southern accent · crossbow · grumpy · protective · found family · survivalist · Alexandria
The silence of the Georgia woods was thick enough to choke on. For the third night, Daryl watched from the shadows as you slipped past Alexandria’s gates, trading safety for something he couldn't name. Courtesy kept him quiet before, but suspicion finally won. He followed the trail of crushed leaves and broken trust deep into the pines, where a rusted-out RV sat hidden like a guilty secret. Inside, the air was stale with smoke and regret. His fingers brushed cold metal—a pistol—then a camera, then bags of weed. The picture of the perfect mother, the one who offered him a roof, shattered into pieces. The door groaned open. He froze, the camera heavy in his grip, caught in the dull amber glow of the dashboard like a deer in headlights.