Daryl couldn't say which he'd noticed first — the guitar accompanying a man's voice singing the blues, or the weird feeling. He peered through the trees in the direction they were coming from, as if he could see through the dense woods to whatever it was. From the sound of it, the man singing wasn't too far away.

He rubbed his forehead. That weird feeling… he'd noticed it lately when he was around the walkers. It was like he could sense them somehow. He hadn't told anyone about it, of course. He was too afraid of what it meant. Was he turning into one of them? Had he been bit without knowing it, when the walkers overran the prison? He didn't see how he could have been, but what other explanation was there?

That was why he'd gone on this hunting trip alone, while Maggie and Glenn did a run for baby supplies. He didn't want any of the others figuring out his secret before he had a chance to, well, take care of things. There was no need for any of the others to do for him when he could do for himself.

He frowned as he realized something was different. The weird feeling wasn't the same as the other times. This time it was stronger. Almost… cleaner. Healthier? Still damned annoying. Hell if he knew what was going on. A finger of ice slithered down his back. Oh fuck. Maybe he was getting worse. Maybe it was time. His arms tightened around his crossbow, cradling it to his chest as he pictured how it would go. It would be a bit difficult, using the crossbow, but he was sure he could manage it.

The worst part was thinking about Carol finding out what he'd done. The thought of her grieving for him hurt, but maybe that was better'n her figuring he'd lit out in his own? Maybe he ought to head back to the prison. Take care of things somewhere close, where Rick would find him, after.

Then again… there was the singing. And the guitar. Who did that? Noise would bring the walkers. Daryl shook his head as he started out in the direction of the music. He could almost hear his brother complaining that he had a curious streak a mile wide. He held his crossbow aimed loosely down as he threaded his way through the trees, ready to raise it and fire in an instant. He told the Merle in his head to shut up. He knew curiosity could get you killed out here. He might be a damn fool, but he didn't want to die unless it was his own idea.

He scanned the area for signs of ambush as he slipped between the trees. These weren't the woods he'd grown up in, but they were still the same. He was a tracker. He could spot signs where the ground had been disturbed and he knew how to move so nothing would suspect he was even there unless he wanted them to. Which was why, a few minutes later when he came to the edge of the clearing where the singing and the weird feeling were coming from, he couldn't believe it. There was an old man sitting in a camp chair singing and playing the guitar, and across the clearing there were some horses with a younger man standing there beside them as if the guy had just been taking care of them before turning around and straight at him. Daryl swore under his breath. There was no way that guy could spot him through the leaves. Was there?

Methos let Joe's voice wash over him as he rubbed down his horse. There was another immortal out there. Young… or simply not very strong. His lips quirked up in a smile. That would give him an edge, and he did so like having edges. He gave the mare a final pat and made sure she was securely tethered beside the other two. It wouldn't do for any of the three to run off, frightened, if this turned out to be a challenge. He reached behind him, making sure his sword was loose in its scabbard on his back. Damn Duncan MacLeod and his Boy Scout ways. He wouldn't be here, traveling through an unfamiliar forest with Joe and an unknown immortal approaching, if it hadn't been for the Highlander's influence.

He centered his attention on the trees where the quickening was the strongest. He snorted. Strongest. This quickening was so weak, he'd be willing to bet the immortal was young enough that he or she had never taken a head. Oh hells. Would he be stuck teaching the young one until he could find someone to foist a student on? He could picture MacLeod's indignation if the Highlander found out he'd ignored a youngling in need of instruction.

He heaved a sigh. Better get this over with. "Are you just going to hide there, or are you coming out?" He prepared himself to wait the young one out with the patience of a predator. From the corner of his eye, he could see Joe shoot him a questioning glance. He shook his head, and Joe continued to play.

It wasn't long before a lean young man, all wiry muscle, edged out from between the trees, as cautious as an alley cat. Good gods, was that a crossbow? He'd have to get the man a sword…

Who did he know that might be willing take on a student?

Daryl studied the two men, shifting his attention from the younger man to the older one and back. The younger man was maybe a couple inches taller than he was, and had on jeans and a t-shirt that were well-worn but clean. The old man, maybe about as old as Dale had been before the walkers got him, wasn't singing anymore. He had leaned forward in his chair, and was watching them closely. Daryl frowned, puzzled. Why don't he get up? "Who are you two?"

"The question is, young one, who are you?"

Young one? Daryl huffed. The man looked to be the same age as him, maybe even younger. Where did the man get off calling him young? The man studied him with a raised eyebrow. Hell, maybe he could sense how unimpressed Daryl was. He lifted his chin and stared the man in the eye. Daryl Dixon was a stubborn cuss, and he could out-stubborn anyone.

The old man huffed a laugh. "I think he's got your number, Adam."

Adam shot the old man an irritated glare. "Some people need to keep their mouths shut."

The old man adjusted the guitar on his lap, holding it with one hand. With the other, he mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key. Then he folded both hands over the guitar, affecting an innocent, expectant look as he watched Adam.

Adam rolled his eyes as he turned back to Daryl. "Ignore the man with the guitar. He's senile."

"Hey!"

"Why don't you come sit down?" Adam gestured toward the old man. A couple packs leaned next to the tree, along with a second, still collapsed, chair. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Daryl didn't trust either of them. He sure hadn't missed that while he knew Adam's name — maybe — he still didn't know who the old man was.

Adam pursed his lips, eyeing him consideringly, as if trying to decide what to tell him. "About the feeling that led you here. And the feeling you get from the walkers."