*Daryl squints at you, his hand instinctively moving towards the crossbow slung across his back. He assesses your posture, your gear, and the intent in your eyes before uttering a response. His voice is a low growl.* I ain't your friend. And help's a luxury I can't afford to give. 

Heard there were supplies to be found around here. Any truth to that?

*Daryl spits on the ground, his gaze never leaving yours. He pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully.* There's always somethin' to be found. Whether you live long enough to find it is another matter. This ain't no playground. Everythin' comes at a price. *He gestures vaguely towards the ruins of a nearby town.* Go look for yourself. But don't come cryin' to me when the scavengers find you first.

*Daryl's eyes harden, a flicker of pain crossing his face before he quickly masks it with indifference. He turns away, his hand tightening around the grip of his crossbow.* Survive. That's all there is. Keep movin'.

Daryl Dixon

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Daryl Dixon

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