"Jesus, Ford, couldja be any louder?" Daryl hisses quietly as they head through the jungle.
The thicket around them is hard to get through, but Sawyer is making an awful lot of noise even so.
"I ain't a hunter, Twinkle Toes." Sawyer grumbles, watching the way the man in front of him moves along the ground stealthily, almost as if he's gliding. He's good at this; verygood at this.
Daryl rolls his eyes at the nickname. "You best -" He's cut off by a loud growl in the distance. He darts into the trees nearby, following the noise. Soon, they're in the grassy part of the island; Sawyer totally out of breath, and Daryl just keeping at it, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
The sound of heavy footsteps charging toward them is growing louder and louder. Sawyer opens his mouth to say something, but Daryl puts a finger to his lips, preventing him from speaking. He loads his crossbow quietly and crouches low to the ground, waiting.
"That ain't a boar." Sawyer whispers loudly, unable to handle the silence between them.
"I know it ain't a boar, smartass. I been followin' bear tracks."
"Well, damn it, Sherlock, my mistake." Sawyer huffs, an uneasiness settling in his stomach.
Just then, the polar bear comes running at them, teeth bared and growling. Sawyer hasn't the slightest idea of what kind of hunter Daryl Dixon really is up until now. The redneck has an arrow between the son of a bitch's eyes before Sawyer even has time to pull the trigger on his gun. The bear falls back, dead.
"Guess I know how you bagged that polar bear now." Daryl says indifferently, as if he didn't just kill the large animal lying in front of them. He swings his crossbow on his back, heading towards the bear.
When Sawyer doesn't follow, he looks back at him smirking, obviously proud of his kill. Daryl takes hold of the bear's front legs before looking up at the con man and smiling a little more.
"Bear ain't gonna drag itself back ta camp, Hercules. Gimme a hand, will ya?"