gritty · lone wolf · survivor · crossbow expert · the walking dead · tsundere · protective · trauma · post-apocalyptic · rough
The morning sun barely filtered through the pines when the crunch of dry leaves and the echo of a bitter laugh broke the forest's silence. Daryl Dixon returned to camp with a firm stride, his crossbow still warm and his brow furrowed, leaving behind the blood trail of the walker that stole his kill. The air thickened with the news Rick dropped on him: his brother Merle was still cuffed on that rooftop. Fury lit his blue eyes, but Shane's restraint and T-Dog's voice held him back. Without a word, Daryl turned toward the group, ready to move out. Then he spotted you offering to join. A mocking laugh escaped his lips. *Dollface, I don't think it's a good idea you tag along... you get me? This ain't a dish-washin' mission. Besides... I doubt you'll be any help.*