Chapter One
Disclaimer: Daryl Dixon is delicious- but, I do not own him or The Walking Dead.
Daryl Dixon had a temper, and everyone in his group knew it- the five foot eleven, lean man had never kept that a secret, always the first to throw a punch, always the last to go down in a fight. On a particularly smoldering hot Georgia day, he let that temper loose throwing whatever he could get his hands on at a particularly wimpy tree before strutting off into the forest in search of something to kill. In Daryl's mind, he felt discouraged to associate with the rest of his group, almost an outsider, but involving himself anyways. One could describe him as an alley-cat who would either purr for your attention or rip your throat out with his claws; unpredictable was what he was. Dangerous is what he called himself.
The women at his camp couldn't keep their mouths shut about him- that's what the current temper tantrum was about. Though he would never admit it, he always regretted his temper afterwards, but stubborn pride kept him from apologizing to them all. Daryl was not the cleanest of men at the camp, nor was he the dirtiest. He kept his hands clean, made sure to bath every other day. He simply didn't see the point in bathing twice a day as the women did. For God's sake, he crawled around in dirt to feed them, they should be more grateful.
It was this state of mind that had left Daryl open to ambush- he heard the click of an arrow being notched just before he felt the blinding pain searing his leg. Again, he heard the click and heard it fly; his thoughts being consumed by death and pain.
He heard a sickening thud and managed to open his eyes only to see a walker land three inches from his face, an arrow lodged perfectly in the center of its once human face. He should have known that he was being hunted. He quickly broke and slid the arrow from his leg, crawling only a few feet before collapsing from the heat and exhaustion.
A shadow loomed over him and he felt a small, cool hand touch his feverish face; he hadn't even heard the footsteps. The last thing Daryl Dixon remembered before blacking out were gold and green eyes that reminded him of the sea.