Had this idea for a lil' bit and decided just now to make something of it. It's currently 2:30 in the morning here. Usually I would be sleeping. Obviously. Hopefully the writing doesn't reflect my lack of rest. Either way I'm sure I'll come back and edit. But for right now I'm excited to get this out there. Sorry it's so short. Regardless, I hope you like it! Please read and review. Give your honest opinion. Any advice is welcome. Enjoy.

Claimers

From a distance, he could hear the sound of boots scuffing through the dirt of the road. He knew he'd sat there for some time. The sun had made progress across the expanse of sky since he'd dropped to the gravel road. He'd chased the car that had taken Beth until it disappeared from sight. Afterward, Darryl found himself exhausted. Not physically, but mentally.

Gravel skidding across the road drew his attention back to the sound of boots. It wasn't the scraping shuffle of the undead, no. These footsteps, although lazy and relaxed, belonged to survivors. Years spent in the wilderness hunting and tracking had trained his ears to the subtleties of different movement. Glaring up at the men that moved to surround him, he gathered his strength. Despite being weary and worn, he wouldn't allow them to kill him.

A single man moved in front of him, sizing him up from his position on the ground. Taking advantage of the close proximity, Daryl lashed out, muscled arm landing a solid blow to the man's chest, knocking him to the dirt. He seized the opportunity and leapt to his feet, training his crossbow on the downed man.

The other men lurched, raising their own weapons toward him.

"Damn it, hold up!" The man at his feet called, posture relaxed.

"I'm claiming the vest." Daryl darted his eyes behind himself to find a lanky man, compound bow gripped in his hands. "I like them wings." He smirked.

"Hold up" The old man waved. The men's postures remained rigid as he stood with a laugh. He gestured toward the crossbow in his hands as he took a step back.

"A bow man. I respect that. See a man with a rifle he coulda been some kinda photographer, or a soccer coach back in the day." A sneer crossed his face at the thought. "A bow man's a bow man. Through and through. What you got there? Hundred-fifty pound draw weight? I've been looking for a weapon like that. Course I'd want one with a bit more ammo and minus the oblongata stains."

Dark eyes narrowed on the man in front of him, wary of where he was going with the line of conversation.

"Get yourself in some trouble, partner?" The same voice jeered from behind. Daryl held his tongue. No need to prematurely set them off. He steadied his stance, and secured the butt of his bow against his shoulder. The old man raised his hands in a pacifying manner.

"You pull that trigger, these boys are gonna drop you several times over. That what you want? Come on, fella. Suicide is stupid. Why hurt yourself when you can hurt other people?" He said with a grin stretching his lips. "Name's Joe."

Hesitating a moment, dark eyes scanned the face of the man in front of him before he lowered his weapon. "Daryl"

The other men followed suit, lowering their weapons. He glanced around, assessing the people whose company he now found himself in. Joe gave an approving nod, however, a subtle movement behind his bulky form drew his attention.

Daryl stepped aside, readying his weapon before he realized what it is he was looking at. A woman stood several yards away, a recurve bow gripped in one hand while the other held an arrow poised against the string. She stood still as stone, the only movement being her thigh length midnight blue hair that curled playfully with the breeze. That, he realized, was the movement that had caught his attention. She wore fitted jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a loose leather jacket. He stood frozen. How long had she been there? He hadn't even noticed her and that, he thought with a shiver, was dangerous.

Len's shuffling steps stopped beside him, breaking his trance.

"Don' even think about it." He sneered. "That bitch is gon' be mine." He said confidently before sweeping his greasy brown hair away from his face and sending, what Daryl assumed was supposed to be, a charming smile toward the woman. Daryl ignored Len as he moved away to speak with Joe.

When he turned back around he found clear amethyst pools set within a heart shaped face boring into him. She was moving toward him, boots moving almost soundlessly over the gravel road. He could only catch a muted crunch as her feet lifted from the ground. It was almost unnerving how quiet she moved.

She paused beside him, blue eyes locked onto his face. She was petite, her head only coming up to his shoulders. Despite her size, she moved with confidence, her back straight and proud. A small smile curved on her pale plump lips, drawing his attention to her mouth.

"Kagome." She murmured, eyes exploring his face. She was foreign. He could hear the lilt of an accent in her words, minimal as it was. A tiny hand came to rest on the exposed skin of his bicep, sending a jolt of electricity through his body, startling him.

Her lips took on an teasing twist at his continued silence. It took him a moment longer to find his voice before he finally answered.

"Daryl"