Hello readers, this is my first attempt at a TWD fanfic
I have a grand scheme in mind, but may decide to bring in some characters from different series in and make it a cross-over at some point... Hm, not quite sure yet. Please review and maybe give me some ideas, I want to have fun with this!
For the moment, it's going to be Daryl/ OC romance, and will be following the t.v. series as closely as possible, since I love where the series is going with Daryl's character. For that reason, don't expect a fast-developing romance! Also I feel that many fanfics have focussed too much on how HAWT Daryl is (though of course I agree whole-heartedly) and have actually limited his badassery. He ain't all "hearts-n-flowers", people! I'm bringing back the grit.
Note: I won't be rewriting the script/ events, but rather be filling in the time gaps with extra scenes. So I hope you're all familiar with the main storyline. I'm going to try to stick to the tone of the series as much as poss so you peeps can feel like it's an extension of the series, not a complete recreation :D Enjoy and PLEASE review whether you like/hate/had something interesting for breakfast!
CHAPTER 1
The first time Daryl saw her was on one of his hunts.
He was alone, in the woods surrounding Herschel's farm. Since the incident with Sofia coming out of the barn, he'd felt the need to get away from the group, to deal with things in his own way. He preferred the silence of the woods, as he tracked game and tried not to think about what had happened only three days ago.
He'd set out early that morning, before anyone else had risen (aside from Dale, keeping a vigil on the RV), and had covered a lot of ground since then. It was almost midday, and he was about as far from the farm as he had ever been on a day's hunt. He'd crouched down to have a break and refill his water bottle at the bank of a stream. After he had rested, he planned to begin the long trek back. He should be back at the farm before dark, even if he took his time. He had only five squirrels to show for the whole half-day's hunting. It seemed like all the bigger game had vacated the area for some reason, which was ominous. He trailed his fingers in the water leisurely, disturbing his reflection. He mused that he looked like he'd aged since three days ago. The ever-present frown played over his face as his thoughts turned dark again. He was just about to rise and start moving again, when he heard movement. Something was approaching through the trees. Ever the hunter, he grabbed his crossbow with one hand and searched for the source of the noise with sharp blue eyes.
She emerged out of the trees on a ridge parallel to the stream, about ten metres away from him, striding purposefully but also quietly. She was watchful, but hadn't seen him yet. She walked with her right hand rested lightly on a holstered gun. He froze at first, conscious that any sudden moves would likely draw her gaze, then slowly leaned back behind a bush, screening himself from view.
He rested his crossbow on the ground between his knees and peered through the leaves. She was quite tall, tanned and slender... lean was the best word to describe her. The leanness which comes from sparse meals, little rest and constant travelling on foot. She wasn't classically beautiful, but Daryl found her bearing and expression to be somehow striking. She looked capable of taking care of herself. It was hard to tell her age, but he estimated late twenties, to early thirties. Her light brown hair was tied in a no-nonsense knot at the back of her head, which turned often to the left and the right as she scanned her surroundings carefully. She walked with a type of muscular grace, like she was ready to break into sprint at a moment's notice. She wore a plain black tank top and cargo pants tucked into mud-stained, knee-high, lace-up leather boots. Around her forearms she'd taped what looked like hockey shin-guards, as clever protection against walkers in close combat. On her hands she wore fingerless leather riding gloves. Other than the gun on her belt, on her battered backpack she had attached a sheath, inside which was what looked like a long, curved, machete-like blade that had seen quite a bit of use. Alongside this, also attached to the back of the backpack, was a smallish, blood-splattered metal shield that tapered to a sharp point at one end.
Daryl's sharp eyes took in all of this as she passed his location. Moments later, she was gone, melted into the trees. He could hear her light steps fading away in the fallen dead leaves of the forest. He stood up, looking after her, and bit his lip. She was heading away from the farm- she wasn't a threat... or an ally. He should just ignore her and head back. But he was also curious- Where was she going? Was she alone? She was lean, certainly, but not starved. He dithered for a few moments longer, and then decided to follow her for a while, just for the hell of it. If she didn't show any signs of meeting up with a group... or turning back towards the farm... then he would give up and return to the farm in time for supper, alone.
It was easy to follow her tracks, and he caught up with her enough that she was just within sight. Every so often she would cast a glance around, and he would duck behind a tree or crouch down out of the line of sight. Daryl got a kind of primal thrill from the challenge of following her. It was the ultimate test of a hunter, to stalk quarry that was as just smart and as cautious as you were, in rough terrain. It was also a welcome distraction from all the recent heartache and anxiety. For the first time in a long time, he was not thinking about Rick gunning down Sofia in front of the barn, while Carol's world collapsed as she cried in his arms. He was thinking about the volume of his footsteps, anticipating her movements and copying her pauses. He was absorbed by the mysterious girl in the woods.
