Honorable Intentions
It's quiet closer to the water. The people of the camp seldom venture down this far which means, if he's lucky, he will have peace and quiet for a change. He's seen the gratitude in their eyes when he comes back from a hunt with a brace of squirrels slung casually over his shoulder. The few times he's managed a deer, they forgot themselves enough to clasp him on the back. He endures them, giving short nods and noncommittal grunts by way of reply. They appreciate the meat but not the method he uses to provide it. None of them have a clue how to prepare a kill, how to trim meat from skin and bone. So he finds a place where it's just him and the fruits of his labor. These times, he can let down the walls and just be. Let his mind wander while his hands go through the motions by rote.
He makes short work of the squirrels, peeling the skin free and scooping the entrails into a neat pile to be disposed of once the butchering is done. He shakes his head at the waste but these are city folk, not used to doing without. They've learned that things aren't simple anymore. There are no corner markets or delivery services. The only sure thing is that nothing is sure anymore. MREs, canned food, fish, and whatever game he brings in are the only staples they can depend on. If not for that, these upstanding people wouldn't give him or Merle the time of day.
Pebbles shift and roll down the bank a few feet away but he gives no outward sign that he's noticed. His gaze marks out the crossbow lying close by with a bolt nocked and ready. The knife in his fist, though stained with blood and bits of hair, is a formidable weapon in its own right. He gives the surrounding area a brief glance before bending back to his task. It is enough to find the culprit, crouched behind a bush while stealing peeks through the scraggly branches. The dirty blond hair identifies her as easily as the small shrub she hides behind. He can't help but wonder what she's doing down here away from the main body of the camp. The boy who usually shadows her is nowhere to be seen nor is her wisp of a mother, not much bigger than the girl she hovers over.
He eases the knife down and slowly rises before making his way down to the water. A hasty rinse is enough to get most of the muck off. He grabs the rag out of his back pocket and gives them a once over before speaking. Her name swims up from a forgotten place in his mind, a memory of a gentle voice calling her back to their tent for supper. It comes easily to his lips, "You gonna hide behind that bush all evening, Sophia, or are you gonna come over here and help. The sooner we get these done, the faster your mamma can get them stewed up."
The bush shakes as she shifts deeper under cover. He still doesn't turn toward her hiding place. If she comes out, he wants it to be her choice. He bites back a curse as the bush goes still, almost too still. He knows that instinct, has given into it himself. He's seen game do it countless times in a last-ditch effort to avoid detection. He knows what brought about such knowledge in this girl and his gut burns at the thought. He crouches down at the water's edge, both to make him seem smaller and less threatening and to steady his shaking limbs.
"It's up to you," he commented into the silence. "I'm good either way."
He hears more stones skitter down the side as she slides out from under the bush and into view. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she slips closer. She hovers by the rock that he'd used as a table to clean his kills. Her blue eyes widen as they take in the partially skinned remains he'd left lying there. She looks from him to the squirrel and back before drawing a deep breath and stepping closer still. This time, she doesn't stop until she's almost beside him. He settles back on his haunches and watches as she crouches just out of reach. She doesn't speak, only watches him with big, wary eyes.
"Not my place to say so," Daryl muses. "But you don't need to be out here alone. Just cause we haven't seen walkers don't mean they're not around."
"I was careful," she protests stoutly. "I stayed on the path and watched the trees. I didn't hear anything."
"Still don't make it right," he returns.
Her jaw firms stubbornly beneath those pleading eyes. "I was careful."
He chuckles despite his efforts not to. She's a sassy thing; he has to give her that. A bantam rooster strutting across the barnyard. He makes an appeasing gesture in her direction, turning back to his game. "Didn't mean nothing by it. Just saying that you don't need to be out alone."
Sophia snorts under her breath, eyes fixed on the capable movements of his hands as he finishes skinning the squirrel. "I'm not alone. You're here so I'm safe, right?"
He sends her a glare and growls, "Don't twist words with me, girl." She balks, sidling back a few steps. Daryl's fist tightens on the hilt of his knife. "Don't do that. I won't hurt you." Her face shows her doubt but she decides to trust him, for she settles on a low rock and watches him with interest.
She's quiet for the most part so he's able to ignore her as he moves on to the string of rabbits he'd caught in the snare line he'd set a few days ago. He'd decided this morning to shift them more to the south, after the fresher trails. He watches her for a moment, reaches into his pocket for a smaller knife, and lays it on the rock in front of her. She hesitates before reaching for it, her eyes darting from him to the stunted blade. "It's sharp," he muttered. "Be easy with it or you'll lose a finger." He picks up a half-skinned corpse and drops it in her lap. "Cut between the meat and the skin. Take your time. Once you've got the hide off, I'll show you how to finish up."
She flashes a small grin before bending to her chore, deftly maneuvering the small blade. He watches as she mirrors him, feeling a strange sort of pride as the first rabbit is quickly shorn. She's a natural. He plunks another in front of her and huffs out a laugh as she dives right in. She shoots him a smile, using her forearm to push the hair out of her eyes. "This is gross," she observes while carefully cutting the last bit of fur away.
"It's food," he answers. "We have to eat."
She lays the knife down carefully, her blue eyes solemn. "Daddy says that we don't need you and your hunting. He says that we can do just fine on our own."
Daryl shrugs, wiping his knife on his rag before shoving it into the sheaf at his belt. "And what do you think?"
The girl gives a funny little shoulder wiggle, but her eyes don't waiver. "I think you do a good thing. It helps the camp. Nothing Daddy does helps anybody. He sits around all day, grumbling about everybody else but he doesn't do anything." She looks at him expectantly. "I don't want to be like that." She bounces eagerly. "Can I help you?"
He pauses, looking at the girl in amazement. He never expected this. Merle would have his ass for getting involved with the girl. He starts to tell her hell no and not to bother him again but the look in her eye stops him cold. She expects to be told no and to be shoved aside. She's already accepted it. That, more than anything, is responsible for what comes next. "You can help if that will keep your ass out of trouble. Your mamma has to know where you are or this won't work. And if she says no, then that's the end of it. You got me?"
The smile that curves her mouth almost pulls an answering one from him. She leaps to her feet, already scampering up the path as excited words spill forth. "She will. I'll tell her now. Thank you, Mr. Daryl. Thank you!"
He watched her go with something like a knot in his throat. He half-hoped that her mother would tell her no. It would make his life easier. He should have told her himself but he couldn't. He couldn't. Daryl sighed as he gathered up the game to take it back to camp.
A/N I previously posted this story but took it down due to health issues. I've started working on it again and wanted to put it back up. Apologies to those who had it on favorite or alert. Thanks for reading...it's greatly appreciate.