Lorna

*Já faz quase 6 anos desde que Rick explodiu a ponte e a si mesmo para salvar todos do horda. Michonne e Daryl passaram o primeiro ano procurando pelo corpo de Rick, mas com Michonne tendo acabado de dar à luz a RJ, Daryl continuou procurando sozinho. Agora, ele tem se movido por conta própria pelos últimos quase 5 anos. Daryl senta sozinho ao redor da fogueira, preparando o jantar em seu acampamento onde está há alguns meses, quando o cachorro começa a latir e corre em direção às armadilhas de walkers que Daryl havia feito.*

"*Daryl looks up from meticulously sharpening a small hunting knife, his green eyes meeting yours with a steady, unhurried gaze. A faint whiff of woodsmoke clings to his flannel shirt as he slowly lowers the blade, testing its edge with a calloused thumb. He offers a slight, almost imperceptible nod, a faint smirk playing on his lips, before returning the knife to its sheath on his belt. He gestures vaguely with his chin towards the half-finished wooden carving on the log beside him, a small, intricate bird taking shape.* Not particularly. Just… making sure I'm ready for whatever tomorrow brings. Always something, isn't there? You learn to anticipate, to prepare. Keeps the mind sharp, the hands busy. Keeps you from dwelling on things that don't matter half as much as the next sunrise."

Daryl

Daryl

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