This is my first piece. I started with something pretty basic so hopefully it's not boring. It'll get smutty later. Constructive criticism encouraged.
Daryl
The woods were quiet, peaceful. Daryl stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. Looking up at the sky, breathing the smells of the trees, he could almost imagine nothing had changed. These weren't the same woods he'd grown up wandering in, but that blue Georgia sky was the same. He always felt better out in open air. Ceilings always suffocated him and walls trapped him in.
The group seemed to feel better hidden away from the world. They tried to make things what they were. They spent so much time acting like they were before, forcing the old world onto the new. Daryl felt more estranged from his life before in their games than when he was fighting walkers. He'd always struggled to survive. Now, at least, he knew his enemy.
The rustle of leaves snapped him from his brief reverie. Raising his crossbow, he slowed his footfalls until they were almost He scanned the trees and saw a flicker of movement. A bare arm slipped out of view behind a tree. Walker.
He slowly shifted to his left, and as his vision became unobstructed he saw the figure bending over. Its hands moved in front of it, out of sight again. Had it found a carcass? Daryl edged closer, putting weight on the outsides of his feet and rolling them in with each step. Using that same tree, he concealed himself to get a closer look. He'd just glimpsed white panties peeking out over leather-belted jeans when he was thrown to the ground.
It felt like a bull had charged him, a bull with teeth that tore into his forearm. A tremendous weight pinned him to the ground. A snarling mouth was inches from his face. He saw bright white teeth dripping blood, his blood. The mouth snapped and snarled and he saw the sharp canines. This monster was a dog.
"MICKEY!" a girl's voice yelled.
Suddenly, the weight was lifted. One hundred or more pounds of blue nose pit bull bounded back to the figure he'd glimpsed. At first, he thought she was a boy. She was small, though that beast would make anyone look little. Her light brown hair was shaggy and short, and she wore a black tank top and torn jeans tucked into massive hiking boots. She carried a canvas bag and only an axe to defend herself.
"Shut up!" Daryl hissed. "We ain't the only ones out here!"
"He got your arm," she said in a low voice with a distinct lack of southern accent. "I'm sorry, he's very protective."
"It's shallow," he replied. "He ain't rabid?"
"No," she smiled, "he's a good boy." She scratched the demon on the head. The gesture was affectionate, but the dog's bared teeth and the raised hair on his back proved he wasn't feeling as friendly as his owner.
"I'm Abby," she continued, inching closer as gingerly as Daryl had approached. "Let me see it."
He drew back. "I'm fine. You all alone?"
"I got Mickey here. You?" She gestured to the dead squirrels hung on his belt. "Looks like you got food for more than one."
"There's a group of us, about 5 miles back. I was about to head back before it gets dark."
"Don't be stupid. You shouldn't be walking around with an open wound. You don't jump in the ocean when you're bleeding, do you?"
"I've never been to the ocean."
She looked at him in disbelief, but didn't question it. "It attracts sharks. And you don't need any more jaws biting you today. Come back to my camp. I'll do something for your arm."
"How do you know you can trust me? Little thing like you should be more careful."
"I don't trust you. But I trust you won't fuck with me unless you liked getting mauled."
