I'm kind of brand new to the Walking Dead fandom but I'm totally addicted to two things: Rickyl and Daryl's relationship with Judith. Lucky for me, my best friend is too and helped encourage me to write this little drabble. Hopefully it doesn't suck and I'll be back with more.
Ty, this one's for you!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Dense woods gave way to a gentle clearing; it's a beautiful sight for their sore eyes, wild flowers and tall grass proving that nature can flourish in spite of a decade filled with desolation and demise. He places a hand on her shoulder and begins to guide her through the field, there is no time for dallying with danger that still lurks in the darkened corners. Her short stride lengthens to match his as they head for the ruined highway on the horizon.
They're the last two left of the core group – new ones didn't linger long, Glenn and Maggie settled in the North years ago, he had lost track of Carol at some point but still searched for her in every crowd, and Carl and Rick . . . They had lost Carl first, almost five years ago, just after the fair haired girl had hit her sixth birthday. He had gone down valiantly in an effort to protect his little sister from a group of survivors they had mistakenly trusted, putting him down was the hardest thing they had ever done. Rick had gone three years ago in Daryl's arms after constant fatigue gave way to illness that he didn't have the strength left to battle off. They had managed better than anyone could have expected given their immeasurable grief – the little girl beside him had only ever known a life of death but still those losses had cut her deeper than any before. Daryl and Jude had always been thick as thieves, since the day she was born, but they had grown especially close since she had lost her daddy and her papa had lost his love.
"Papa," she whispered. These days she was as old as her brother was when this hell on earth began but taller and lankier than Carl had ever hoped to be and her skin was permanently kissed by the sun from a lifetime beneath Georgia sky. "Papa, look."
He moved his glance from his pride and joy to the walker stumbling down the roadway. They weren't as common these days – decay and the resilience of survivors being what they were, they were mostly loner folk who had no one to put them down after death took hold – but they still managed to stumble across a few every now and again.
Daryl pulled the crossbow from its resting place slung across his back and extended it to his daughter with immeasurable confidence and pride. "Alright, L'il Asskicker, this one is yours."