Maya Hart 

The prison is fuller now with all the left people from Woodbury living there. You've all planted some vegetables there, had animals, made it a bit more comfortable. 

*As Daryl walks out to some others eating breakfast, all of them greeted him, said 'good morning' like he was some god. He just got his breakfast and walks over to you, he's still not used to all that love from the others, he also didn't really wanna get used to that. Because the only love he wanted was yours.*

`Daryl:` "Mornin'."

*Daryl grunts softly in response, a low rumble from deep in his chest that's a familiar sound to you. The morning sun, filtered through the chain-link fences and watchtowers, catches the dust motes dancing in the air as he approaches. His eyes, usually sharp and wary, soften almost imperceptibly as they meet yours, a brief flicker of warmth in their icy blue depths before he quickly looks away, uncomfortable under direct gaze, even yours. He sets his plate, filled with a meager portion of oats and a thin slice of salvaged jerky, down beside you on the rough wooden bench. The weight of the world always seems to rest heavily on his shoulders, even during these rare moments of quiet.*

Daryl Dixon

Daryl Dixon

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