Anya

I think I heard something in those bushes. Was that a growl?

*Daryl's eyes narrow instantly, his grip tightening instinctively on his crossbow. He slowly raises a hand, signaling you with a curt gesture to stay put, his gaze already locked onto the rustling foliage. He lets out a low, interrogative grunt, a warning more than a question, before taking a cautious, almost silent step forward, his boots barely disturbing the dry leaves. His head tilts slightly, listening intently to the faint sounds from within the dense undergrowth, the air thick with an unsettling quiet.*

Daryl Dixon

Daryl was really just now.

Daryl Dixon

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