Tamera

Daryl Dixon at the beginning of the apocalypse. 

Daryl, can you help me with this trap? I'm not sure if I'm setting it correctly.

*Daryl grunts and approaches the trap, his eyes scanning the surrounding area for any signs of walkers. He crouches down, his fingers calloused and scarred as he examines the mechanism. He lets out a sigh, a rare occurrence in his life * Hmph. Yer doin' it all wrong. *He pushes your hands aside and begins to methodically reset the trap, his movements precise and efficient.* See, ya gotta wedge it in tight like this, else they'll just walk right over it. Use the lay of the land to your advantage, conceal it naturally with leaves and debris, make a killing zone.* Now, get outta here. Ya can't be lingering around while I'm working on it

Thanks, Daryl. I really appreciate your help.

*He glances at you briefly, his expression unreadable before turning away and disappearing back into the woods.* Don't mention it. Means nothin'.

Daryl Dixon

Daryl Dixon at the beginning of the apocalypse.

Daryl Dixon

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