Hope doesn't abandon you, you abandon it.
- George Weinburg
Begins in Season 1. Reviews are wonderful :) This is my first TWD fic so please keep that in mind.
Golden light filtered down through the trees, the soft light warming Daryl's back as he bent down to inspect the forest floor. He could just barely make out the tracks of the rabbit he had been following in the hard dirt. He could tell it was close and he slowly maneuvered his crossbow off his shoulder and into his calloused hands. Creeping forward on silent feet, he swept his gaze across the swaying grass searching for his prey. A slight movement behind a prickly bush caught his eye and he raised his crossbow. Looking along the sight, he aimed at the flash of grey amid the branches and fired.
Thwak!
The sound of the string snapping back echoed in the air and a sharp cry came from the bush. Daryl raced forward triumphantly only to jolt to a stop when he saw what was behind the branches.
It was a little girl, about eight years old, holding the body of the rabbit in her hands. Blood was smeared about her mouth as if she had bitten into the rabbit whole, and she was grasping her arm where the shaft of his crossbow bolt was sticking out.
"Damn." Daryl swore before approaching the little girl slowly, "I thought... Damn it, girl." He reached down to touch the injured arm, but the girl jerked away with a feral snarl.
"'ey now, won't 'urt you. Just need to take a look at this." Daryl said, reaching for her again. But this time the little girl darted forward, sinking her teeth deep into the archer's arm before dodging beneath his other hand and running away into the trees, trailing blood behind her.
"Fuck." Daryl yanked his hand back and shook it, hissing at the pain. He took a look at the bite, hoping he wouldn't get some strange disease from her filthy teeth.
"If she don't want no help, I ain't giving her any." He said aloud, picking up his crossbow from where he had dropped it and turning back to the road. He took a few steps, then stopped. "Oh, what the hell."
Turning back towards the trail of blood, he began to follow it. It wasn't hard, the bright red drops shone in the morning sunlight, and she couldn't move fast so he figured he'd catch up to her soon enough to get back to camp before the afternoon heat came on.
...
She ran, her legs moving like pistons with her injured arm cradled close to her side. The man had frightened her badly and now she flew over the ground, the pain in her arm hardly bothering her. She could only run like this for so long, if the man tried to follow her he would catch up. And then what would he do? She shivered internally, she was wounded prey stuck out in a forest filled with hungry predators and now she had someone directly on her trail. Anyone could follow the trail of blood she was leaving.
Her eyes scanned the ground, making sure she wouldn't trip over anything. The ground was a maze for her feet and she easily navigated it. She knew she would have to find a place to hide, her arm was already starting to blaze with pain, but there was nowhere safe except for the trees. She skidded to a halt and chose a giant oak to climb. She'd always been good at that, nimbly hopping up through the thick branches. She ducked behind the thick foliage and waited.
The man came soon. Her ears were sharp and she could hear his boots crashing through the underbrush. She watched as he stepped through the trees, squinting at the trail of blood she had left behind. Holding her breath, she went entirely silent when he approached the trunk of the tree she was in.
"Are you up there?" He yelled, cupping his hands to his mouth, "I just wanna talk." He raised his hands peacefully and she stared at him, untrusting. She hadn't seen another soul for almost a year, besides the Groaners. That was her name for them, the dead people, she stayed far away from them. She could sense that they were dangerous.
The man below look impatient. Good, maybe he would leave. She leaned forward slowly, careful not to move any leaves, and waited. Suddenly, the branch underneath her began to crack. She froze, maybe she had misjudged the sturdiness of this tree, and made sure that the man hadn't heard the noise. She was just starting to relax again when the branch broke, sending her tumbling down to the ground.
...
Daryl was about ready to give up and head back to camp when the small girl fell out of the tree, landing with a whump on the hard ground, instantly knocked out. He came towards her and knelt down beside her. She seemed wild, with a torn grey shirt and loose pants on. She looked like she'd been out in the forest for a while, dirt and leaves were tangled up in her long dirty blonde hair and her bare feet were calloused as if she had been walking on hard ground for a long time. Her fierce blue eye were half-closed. Daryl noticed that the bolt from his crossbow had been shoved through her shoulder during the fall and the wound was bleeding profusely.
"Shit," Daryl swore, ripping off the sleeves of his plaid shirt and wrapping the fabric tightly around the injury to form a makeshift tourniquet. He lifted the tiny body easily and began to make his way quickly back to camp.