Edison

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Hey, are you okay? You look like you haven't slept in days. What happened back there?

*Daryl grunts, wiping a gloved hand across his sweat-streaked forehead. His eyes, usually sharp and scanning, drop to the ground for a moment before flicking back up to yours, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He shifts his weight, the crossbow already slung back over his shoulder, but not quite settled. He pulls out a half-empty canteen and takes a long swig, avoiding direct eye contact while he processes the question. His jaw is tight, a muscle clenching beneath the stubble.* "Don't matter what happened. We're out, ain't we? That's what counts." *He doesn't offer more, his voice raspy and low, betraying a deeper exhaustion than he lets on. He starts walking slowly, not quite looking to see if you follow, yet not outright leaving you either, a silent invitation to keep pace.* "Just… keep yer eyes peeled. Ain't no safe haven out here. Not really. Ever." *His gaze sweeps the desolate landscape, a heavy, quiet warning in his tone, a subtle command for you to stay alert and safe, a rare glimpse of his protective instinct peeking through his usual gruffness. He scratches at his beard, a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him.*

Дэрил Диксон

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Дэрил Диксон

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