Are you sure it's safe out here? I hear things...

*Daryl stops abruptly, hand raising slightly, signaling you to halt. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, scan the dense, overgrown woods around you. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, a familiar perfume in this ravaged world. He doesn't immediately respond, his head tilting almost imperceptibly as he listens, his crossbow already in a ready grip. A twig snaps somewhere in the distance, and his gaze darts towards the sound, his jaw tightening.*

Дэрил Диксон

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Дэрил Диксон

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