Greetings! This is my first attempt at a fanfic, hope ya'll enjoy! This story takes place before Daryl's introduction on AMC's Walking Dead series.

The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners. I own my OC Afton.

Daryl Dixon crouched in the humid Georgia heat behind a small copse of scrub brush, and pushing a few strands of sandy brown hair out of his eyes, peered into the clearing before him. The long, lean legs he had been following for two days and 25 miles finally walked into view.

Steadying his crossbow in both hands, Daryl set his sights on a buck big enough to feed the camp for weeks. The deer, completely, blissfully oblivious, bent his head to graze on the grasses at his feet. Drawing a steadying breath and absently swiping at a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek, Daryl fingered the trigger of his weapon, already loaded with an arrow.

A twig snapped to his left, startling the buck and Daryl both. 'Dinner' jerked his head up and was gone in a flash of white tail.

"Fuck!" Daryl spat.

If one of those Walkers was responsible for this, they were gonna pay. Resettling his quiver over his left shoulder, Daryl turned to investigate the intrusion. He crept silently up to the thick trunk of an oak tree and looked around. A man in a ripped flannel shirt and dirty Levi's stood staring blank-eyed and slack-jawed (what was left of his jaw anyway) at the forest floor. Daryl followed the Walker's gaze to a toad hopping across dead leaves and sticks on the ground.

Noiselessly, Daryl readied his bow for the second time that day.

"Like shootin' fish in a barrel," he drawled under his breath.

And just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, a blur flashed through his field of vision to his right. As fast as another "fuck" fell from his lips, an arrow embedded itself between the glassy eyes of the Walker directly in front of him. Daryl flattened himself against the tree trunk, feeling the rough bark scrape his palms, and looked toward where the arrow had flown.

The leaves of a bush shuddered and Daryl's eyes widened slightly as a woman stole hesitantly from behind the branches. She looked lean and agile in a pair of faded jeans and an Atlanta Falcons t-shirt stretched tight across her chest. Her raven black hair was pulled away from her face into a ponytail, and in her braced left arm she held a compound bow. Daryl's mouth went dry at the sight of her.

He watched as the woman stepped to the now still Walker and, grasping her pink and black-feathered arrow, tugged it free. He moved behind the tree again as the woman straightened from her kill.

"No use hiding, cowboy. I already saw you there before I tagged this guy," The woman's smooth voice startled him, but he came out from behind the oak to see her wiping the arrow tip on a handful of leaves.

"Not too bad of a shot there, darlin'." Daryl walked to her with a hand extended.

"Piece of cake," she took his hand firmly in hers and shook.

He glanced down to their connected hands as a warmth began to wash from his fingers up his arm.

"You got a name, cowboy?" The woman looked at him expectantly as she released his hand.

"Daryl. And how's about yours?" he asked, shifting his crossbow over his shoulder. Now that he was so close to her, he could see that her eyes were a surprising shade of golden brown, like deep pools of amber whiskey.

"My name's Afton," she said reaching over her shoulder to drop her arrow in its quiver. "It was the name of the town my grandma grew up in. Don't expect there's too much there now, though."

"I actually drove through that town once, you know, before all the shit hit the fan."

Afton's gaze shifted from Daryl's to the Walker. A worry line knit her pretty black brows together and she seemed lost in thought.

Daryl cleared his throat. "Uh, looks to me we is losing light pretty fast here. I'ma hafta start settin' up my camp."

Her eyes shot back to him.

"Oh, right." She let out a short, humorless laugh and dropped her gaze.

"Sorry," she continued, "Sometimes I just get caught up in remembering the way life was, before…Um, I've got a camp set up not too far from here. I'd be willing to share a patch of ground with you. It's always nice to have a little company. Safety in numbers, you know?" She offered him a weak half-smile.

He looked at her and wished he could take her in his arms and soothe away all the worries from this fucked up world. He was, by nature, a protector. Hell, that's the reason he was out here in the first place, trying to find food for the people he left back his own camp. Her proposition did sound damn appealing, though. Sharing dinner and company would be like heaven after two days on the trail with no one to talk to but a few chattering squirrels skittering in the trees.

"How do you know you can trust a man you just met?" Daryl's smoky blue eyes narrowed as he asked her, watching for her response.

She looked at him closely, and he felt a warm blush rise to his cheeks at her scrutinization. He regretted asking the question almost as soon as it left his mouth and instantly doubted she would let him share camp with her. He took a quick mental inventory of his appearance: dirty cargo pants with a poorly sewn rip up the thigh, a dusty brown t-shirt that once was white with cut off sleeves, a scruffy over-grown goatee, and tousled hair badly in need of a shampoo and trim. No, he really didn't believe she would let him roll out his sleeping bag next to her fire, and he wouldn't even blame her.

Afton tapped a finger to her lips, drawing his focus back to her.

"It's your eyes," she said resolutely. "I guess I feel like I've met you before. Plus, any man that has a Horton Scout HD 125 crossbow and knows how to use it is a friend of mine."

Daryl blinked and a shy smile lit to his lips. "Well, alright then. Lemme grab my pack," he said gesturing to the oak he had been behind.

"Sure thing, cowboy." Afton turned to the bush she had emerged from. "I'll grab my stuff too."

Walking around the tree, Daryl knelt in front of his pack. He checked and secured the buckles methodically, and when reaching to zip up a side pocket his fingers brushed the compass Merle had given him on his thirteenth birthday-one of the only gifts he had ever received from his older brother. Even after all the shit Merle had put him through growing up, he owed most of his knowledge of his survival skills to him. He hoped that stupid son of a bitch made it back from that suicide mission to Atlanta and in enough time to help him skin up the deer he was bound and determined to take down.

Daryl straightened from his pack and hitched it over his shoulder. He came around the oak to see Afton waiting for him. She had her bow and quiver over one shoulder, and a black backpack over the other.

"You need help carrying any of that, darlin?"

Afton laughed and flashed a straight row of white teeth. "You're funny, cowboy. I've been hauling my own gear since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I think I can handle it."

Daryl smiled and stretched his hand out palm up. "Okay then, lead the way."

They walked in an amicable silence, Daryl stealing little glances at Afton. The fading sunlight dappled through the trees and played across her soft cheek bones and a stubborn wisp of hair kept falling across her forehead, no matter how many times she brushed it behind her ear. And despite the general lack of fresh water these days, her face and hands looked like they had just been scrubbed clean.

After about a quarter mile they came upon a dense grove of Sarvis trees and had to walk through single file, Afton leading the way. A sudden cool breeze gusted up, flirting through her ponytail and drifting the sweetly pleasant scent of magnolias straight to Daryl, which instantly transported him back to shucking peas on his grandmother's porch. The fleeting memory brought a crooked grin to his lips. He opened his mouth to mention it to Afton, but quickly closed it when they crested the hill they were climbing and he saw her camp. He was impressed. If he had access to all the supplies she did his camp would look exactly the same.

A rock ringed fire pit sat in the center of a tidy little clearing with a camp chair facing it. A two-person dome tent was pitched a short way to the right of the fire, and directly opposite was a sun-faded blue Jeep with a small folding table beside it set with a white plastic tub, a gallon size water jug, and a bottle of dish soap. There was even a solar-heated camp shower hanging from a branch on a tree near the truck. Daryl cocked his head to the right and heard the distinct rushing of river water not two yards from where he stood.

"Home sweet home," she said turning to look up at him and placing her hands on her hips. "What's mine is yours."

Daryl pulled the rucksack off his shoulder, set it on the ground and stepped close enough to her that she was less than an arm's reach away. "I brought my own supplies, but I'm willin' to share whatever you can use as a thank you for lettin' me stay on here with you. I was trackin' a good size buck when we crossed paths, so I'll get on his trail again tomorrow and be out of your hair."

His glance ghosted over her. He could feel a warmth radiating off her from their hike and a faint sheen of sweat slicked her forehead. There were pink blooms of color high on her cheeks and that damn stubborn lock of hair had fallen into her eyes again. His fingers twitched slightly as he fought the sudden, wild urge to brush the dark hairs back behind her ear.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. That would surely be a fucking efficient way to get booted out of this camp and onto his ass. And he sure as hell wasn't leaving here until he at least got to use that shower.

Afton smiled up at him, her eyes a strong, warm brandy, and her hands still on her hips. "Well, since we're helping each other out, would you mind gatherin' up some wood and I'll work on dinner?"

"I can do that." He flashed her an innocent smile, but chuckled to himself bitterly as he walked away because with Afton, getting wood was gonna be way too fucking easy any time he was near her.