The Dragon and the Wolf
A Walking Dead Fanfiction
by Pheather McKelle
I do not own the Walking Dead, nor any of their characters. I'm just a girl with a dream. :3
It was a balmy, hot day in rural Georgia. Inside the prison, temperatures skyrocketed to unbearable conditions. The inhabitants chanced the outdoors to get a respite, however feeble, from the incessant heat. Cicadas shrieked in the trees, crickets chirped in the long grasses, and birds whistled hoarsely in the shimmering heat. The day was winding down but felt as though it had gone on forever. The warm breeze that blew in from the south made one feel as though one was being cooked in a big oven. Air shimmered on the horizon, the sun still a few hours away from setting.
The morning had been uneventful. No walkers, no intrusions, no stray people. Everything was almost dull, or as dull as things could get in a zombie apocalypse. There was still laundry to do, food to be cooked, beds to be straightened out, and accuracy to be perfected. The group was doing fairly well on food at the moment so Daryl Dixon really had no excuse for going outside other than to escape the stifling stuffiness of the cellblock.
Dried grasses and leaves from overhanging branches crunched under his feet as he stalked the perimeter of the fence. One side was lined with live oaks, maples, and beech trees, with a few peach interspersed. No doubt there had been a small orchard at one time. As he walked along a little further, the trees thinned and there was a large field that separated the prison from the rest of the forest. Sitting in the shade of a maple, Daryl took a strip of dried meat from his pocket and thoughtfully chewed on it. Though it was practically flavorless, it gave him something to do to keep from getting bored, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be doing woman's work.
Daryl cast about with wary eyes before deciding it was safe to unstrap the crossbow that hung on his back. Like a father with a child, he set it down carefully, propping it up against the fence where he could reach if trouble arose. Settling down in the grass, he leaned against the chain link fence, quietly listening to nature. It wasn't hunting, but it was as close to Zen time as he was likely to find nowadays. The shade, at least, was refreshing, and by the time he finished his strip of meat he had considerably more energy.
A bark and a growl jolted Daryl back into life.
Shooting to his feet, he grabbed his crossbow and aimed at the other end of the field. For a few moments, nothing happened. Then the undergrowth parted to reveal an irregularly bobbing black smudge. One figure emerged ahead of two others: walkers. As the smudge came closer, Daryl could tell it was a wolf. The front right leg was broken and wobbling sickeningly on hinges that shouldn't have been there. It was completely useless and the wolf hobbled foreword, its lips parted in a snarl, ears laid flat back, white teeth showing, red tongue panting from exhaustion, hide lathered with foam.
The wolf, though going at a limping trot, was still outrunning its undead pursuers, but at this rate, it would run out of energy quickly. It looked as though it had been running for quite some time. Turning to face the nearest walker, the wolf leaped and landed on its face, tearing at its skull and eventually gnawing through to the brain. The walker shuttered and died.
In the time it took for the one walker to be killed, the two others caught up. The wolf desperately tried to leap off the body but tripped and tumbled into the grass. It growled and tried to get up, staggering to its feet, hindered by the broken appendage, and finally stood, loping away.
As the wolf got closer, Daryl saw that it was a she-wolf, her fur unkempt and dirty. Blood, new and old, crusted her battle-scarred muzzle. She was pitifully thin, her ribs showed and her legs were like matchsticks. Her blue eyes were hollow in their sockets and life flickered dully in their depths. The she-wolf caught sight of Daryl and her ears flicked indecisively, though her eyes showed… Relief? Hope? Longing? The wolf averted her eyes and continued plodding along, increasing her pace when one walker lurched towards her. It's scabby fingernails scraped her side and the she-wolf snarled. Tucking her leg closer to her chest, the wolf was almost to the gate when she tripped on a rock and tumbled to the ground, collapsing like a pile of matted black fur and bones. Daryl bit his lip. She wriggled, trying to get back up, but sheer exhaustion forced her down.
The walkers closed in on the wolf. She shifted her head and gazed at Daryl with piercing blue eyes. Her expression was blank, but even Daryl's stone-cold heart was moved, just a little bit…
Seeing help was not coming, the wolf blinked slowly and adjusted her position, trying to get comfortable. The walkers bore down on her and her ears pinned, her upper lip trembling. A low growl rose in her throat, but she made no move to get up. She was too hungry, too thirsty, and too tired. Bracing herself, the she-wolf tensed as the walker bent to take a huge bite.
Suddenly, the walker gurgled and collapsed to the side, an arrow sticking out of its skull. The wolf looked surprised at the rotting corpse by her side. A renewed vigor filled her veins and she struggled to her feet, attempting to ignore her pain, but the heat and thirst were taking their toll, and she fell again, panting. The second walker didn't hesitate and staggered forward, growling. That one went down just as quickly. The wolf somehow got to her feet, but she was wobbly and unsteady. Daryl sprinted to the gate, unfastening the bolt, but the wolf was hopping away to the forest.
"Hey, wait!" he called. The wolf stopped in indecision, but snarled and continued hopping away. Daryl stood where he was and watched the wolf disappear into the forest.
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