Chapter 1: Hunter

Daryl saw her for the first time on one of his hunts.

He was alone, in the woods surrounding Hershel's farm. Since the incident with Sofia and the barn, he'd felt the need to get away from the group. He needed to deal with things in his own way (mainly, trying his damnedest not to think about it). He preferred the silence of the woods, as he focused on tracking game and tried not to dwell on the sick knot in his stomach, reminding him of his own inadequacy. His failure.

He'd set out early that morning, before anyone else had risen (aside from Dale, keeping a vigil on the RV), and had covered a lot of ground since then. It was almost midday, and he was about as far from the farm as he had ever been on a day's hunt. He crouched down to have a break and refill his water bottle at the bank of a stream. After he had rested, he planned to begin the long trek back. He should be back at the farm before dark, even if he took his time. He had only five squirrels to show for the whole half-day's hunting. It seemed like all the bigger game had vacated the area for some reason, which was ominous. He trailed his fingers in the water leisurely, disturbing his reflection. He mused that he looked like he'd aged since three days ago. The ever-present frown played over his face as his thoughts turned dark again. He was just about to rise and start moving again, when he heard movement. Something was approaching through the trees. Instantly on alert, he grabbed his crossbow with one hand and searched for the source of the noise with sharp blue eyes.

She emerged out of the trees on a ridge parallel to the stream, about ten metres away from him, striding purposefully. Although he'd heard her movements, she was remarkably light-footed compared to most people. She seemed watchful and cautious, and he instinctively realised he had simply been lucky to spot her first. She walked with her right hand rested lightly on a holstered gun. He froze, conscious that any sudden moves would likely draw her gaze, then slowly leaned back behind a tree, screening himself from view among the low-hanging branches.

He rested his crossbow on the ground between his knees and peered through the leaves. She walked with a type of muscular grace, like she was ready to break into a sprint at a moment's notice, pausing occasionally to scan the treeline before continuing. It was hard to tell her age, but he estimated around late twenties. She was quite tall, tanned and slender... lean was the best word to describe her. The leanness which comes from sparse meals, little rest and constant travelling on foot. Lean, but not starved; she was obviously capable of taking care of herself. Her light brown hair was tied in a no-nonsense knot at the back of her head, which turned often to the left and the right as she scanned her surroundings carefully. She wore a plain black tank top and cargo pants tucked into mud-stained, knee-high, lace-up leather boots. Around her forearms, she'd taped what looked like hockey shin-guards. On her hands, she wore fingerless leather riding gloves. Other than the gun on her belt, her other weapon was a sheath attached to her battered backpack, inside which was what looked like a long, curved, machete-like blade that had seen quite a bit of use. Alongside this, also attached to the her backpack, was a smallish, blood-splattered metal shield that tapered to a sharp point at one end.

Daryl's sharp eyes took in all of this as she passed his location. Moments later, she was gone, melted into the trees. He could hear her light steps fading away in the fallen dead leaves of the forest. He stood up, looking after her, and bit his lip. She was heading away from the farm; she wasn't a threat. Neither was she an ally. He should just ignore her and head back. But he was also curious - Where was she going? Was she alone? Perhaps she was scouting for a larger group, and had already seen the farm...?

He dithered for a few moments longer and then decided to follow her for a while, just for the hell of it. If she didn't show any signs of meeting up with a group... or turning back towards the farm... then he would leave her peace.

It was easy to follow her tracks, and he closed the gap just enough to keep her within sight. Every so often she would cast a glance around, and he would duck behind a tree or crouch down, out of her line of sight. Daryl started to feel a kind of primal thrill from the challenge of following her. It was the ultimate test of a hunter, to stalk quarry that was as just smart and as cautious as you were, in rough terrain. It was also a welcome distraction from all the recent heartache and anxiety. For the first time in a long time, he was not thinking about Rick gunning down Sofia in front of the barn, while Carol's world collapsed as she cried in his arms. He was thinking about his footsteps, anticipating her movements and copying her pauses.

For the first time in days, he was breathing again.