[[ooc: Oh man okay so. I was thinking maybe soonish after episode 5? Right after getting out of Savannah? I'm just gonna... Pretend that the prison is closer than it probably is, whoops. >_> Only way to do this without my brain breaking. Gonna assume this is somewhere before Little Ass Kicker, too.
...Forgive me my wall of text, my god.]]
[Despite having been on the run for the better part of the past eight months, it sure feels good to be outside again. Having a reasonably safe place to hole up for the time being is all well and good, but the nature of the place- a prison- had made Daryl feel just this side of uncomfortable, like an animal stuck in a trap that he's too dumb to recognize in the first place. He knows he should be using this time to take a load off (like the others, and while he may not be completely comfortable with it he sure as hell isn't going to begrudge them their time to rest), recover some of the strength that's been chipped away since they left the farm, but he hadn't been able to just hang around.
He'd offered to go and check out the surrounding area alone, because it seems like everyone else had found something to keep busy with back there. Rick had agreed, though with that sort of half-nod Daryl knows means he's not entirely comfortable but doesn't want to argue, and so he'd grabbed the necessary provisions before his friend had had a chance to change his mind- water, a bit of food, map, crossbow, knife... And that 'horse blanket' he'd grown so fond of. Say what you want about that, it's a hell of a lot warmer than it looks.
Bike parked in the brush just off the road, he's currently making his through the woods, tracking an animal he'd thought he'd seen when he'd stopped to check the map. It'd been too quick for him to know for sure, but it'd looked big... And even though he'd come out here with the intention of scouting, the hunter in him hadn't been able to resist hopping off and checking it out. Food's food, after all.
He stops to kneel in front of some crushed leaves, squinting at them as he does so because, huh, those don't look like hoof prints to him... They almost look like... Footprints? A single set of small footprints... Scowling at the dirt, he shakes his head. Obviously he's imagining things, ain't no way in hell--
A twig snaps behind him and he whirls with crossbow raised, peering into the distance. He could swear he saw something move just behind that tree... Against his better judgement, he calls out quietly.]
ALL OF THE YES. Does 7 work for you?
...Forgive me my wall of text, my god.]]
[Despite having been on the run for the better part of the past eight months, it sure feels good to be outside again. Having a reasonably safe place to hole up for the time being is all well and good, but the nature of the place- a prison- had made Daryl feel just this side of uncomfortable, like an animal stuck in a trap that he's too dumb to recognize in the first place. He knows he should be using this time to take a load off (like the others, and while he may not be completely comfortable with it he sure as hell isn't going to begrudge them their time to rest), recover some of the strength that's been chipped away since they left the farm, but he hadn't been able to just hang around.
He'd offered to go and check out the surrounding area alone, because it seems like everyone else had found something to keep busy with back there. Rick had agreed, though with that sort of half-nod Daryl knows means he's not entirely comfortable but doesn't want to argue, and so he'd grabbed the necessary provisions before his friend had had a chance to change his mind- water, a bit of food, map, crossbow, knife... And that 'horse blanket' he'd grown so fond of. Say what you want about that, it's a hell of a lot warmer than it looks.
Bike parked in the brush just off the road, he's currently making his through the woods, tracking an animal he'd thought he'd seen when he'd stopped to check the map. It'd been too quick for him to know for sure, but it'd looked big... And even though he'd come out here with the intention of scouting, the hunter in him hadn't been able to resist hopping off and checking it out. Food's food, after all.
He stops to kneel in front of some crushed leaves, squinting at them as he does so because, huh, those don't look like hoof prints to him... They almost look like... Footprints? A single set of small footprints... Scowling at the dirt, he shakes his head. Obviously he's imagining things, ain't no way in hell--
A twig snaps behind him and he whirls with crossbow raised, peering into the distance. He could swear he saw something move just behind that tree... Against his better judgement, he calls out quietly.]
If you ain't a geek you best say so now.
[Probably just a walker... But you never know.]