triggermxn.
losing the prison... well, that was bad enough. but being alone? that's a whole new level of bullshit. && does he deserve any of it? no. no he doesn't. he supposes he must do somehow, though. the guy in the clouds doesn't tend to work without somekind of purpose, right? right.
since then, his coping with the loss of their home was rivalled && matched by only one thing. that which he refused to believe was true; and couldn't allow himself to grieve over or account for. he'd seen the governor lay into rick like he was nothing but a punch bag, he'd seen slivers of the red that had painted the grass.he'd seen michonne's face, when she herself saw she was too late. carl, when she'd pulled him away, before they could change anything. he'd seen it all. still; he refuses to account for it. give himself time to even just think a- bout it.
would rick punish him? for letting them all go? would he have wanted him to ensure their protection?
--------rick always knew daryl could never do that.
as if it stopped his blues bleeding him out, he just chose not to think about it. now, he survives in a little, ramshackle campsite. car parts and cans are strung up on string as barriers. he sits beside a dim fire, chewing on over-cooked snake.
until a noise in the shrubbery catches his attention. a hand reaches for the onyx crossbow, && he will stand, the food left to the side for now; making his way toward the source of the sound. footfalls are light atop undergrowth, his eyes glinting in a cold moon; but they fire alight when he sights a figure crouched in the dark.