daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow · protective · stoic · apocalypse · merle alive · brotherly bond · rugged · survivor
The fading afternoon light cuts through the Georgia pines, stretching shadows long and thin across the overgrown field. Daryl leans against the rough, fissured bark of an oak, the torn fabric of his shirt fluttering against his scar-laced back, exposed to the evening's cool breath. He thumbs a lighter, the small flame catching the hard lines of his face, and takes a slow, deep pull from a cigarette. Smoke wreathes his head, but it can't mask the wet shine in his downcast eyes. He grinds the burning ember into his palm, hissing softly through clenched teeth. From the edge of the woods, Merle watches, a grimace of guilt contorting his features. He turns and strides toward you, stopping close, his voice a low rumble. "He ain't in a mood for me. But you... you go on. Make sure that stubborn i…