. CHAPTER ONE .

I

When a bear stands in a trap, it'll chew through flesh and bone to free itself; wolves will do this too, and if a Biter's flesh is rotting enough for it to split, then it'll rip it apart entirely and this is how it frees itself too. The bears and the wolves, they'd die because they'd end up limping along for a short while even if they'd lost a limb and too much blood, because of an instinctive need to survive. When humanity was still thriving and things like the undead weren't exactly a priority, they thought that if an animal was desperate enough to amputate itself with only sharp teeth and strong determination, then that was utterly cruel and they should put pads on the teeth of the trap to soften the pain and not cut through bone instead, therefore deterring them from doing something drastic. What traps we had, they'd been taken from the shed of a house nearby, with the memorabilia of a hunter all around - deer heads with shiny dead eyes and antlers and all that morbid stuff and he didn't seem to care if his traps hurt an animal or not. The teeth of his traps had been clean, sharp enough to slice through bone and butcher the skin, and that was what we thought they should be to catch a Biter and keep it there. I was not a bear or a wolf and thankfully not a Biter, not yet at least, but it had cut through my calf and sliced my bone all the same and I couldn't chew the flesh to free myself - but humans, we can heal. Physically, at least.

What you have to do is very simple; beneath the trap is a screw, which will twist and take the teeth from where they bite the flesh and free you. Then all you can see is blood and bone. You can't even twitch your toes because they're numb, the bone doesn't connect them and you can't quite feel anything below where the calf has been cut - this is a blessing in disguise, because all you can feel is the pain where the trap cut through the flesh. Only, you can't walk very well if you can't feel your foot. Which is why I had to tug the shoelaces from my shoes, putting them between my teeth when taking the trap apart. I'm not sobbing or screaming or even sniffling - I'm crying, I can't help myself, but it's a soft sort of crying. The silent sort, because this has to happen if I want to survive. Or at least, this is what I'm telling myself when taking the shoelaces from my mouth. What you do then is tie the shoelace around the ball of your foot, wrapping it so that you're holding either end in your hands and you can pull them towards you, tugging it until you hear the bone pop and slip beneath the skin again. This is when I'm really struggling not to scream, because the pain is razor sharp and raw. Then you should bandage it and find a flat splint of wood, small enough that you can tie the shoelaces around it to keep it straight and set the bone so it won't slip again, but I don't have anything but my cardigan to try and control that blood flow. I have to haul myself to my feet, dizzy and delirious, but defiantly staggering forward, heading for the hunter's house in the hopes of finding shelter. I'm afraid I'll fall or faint, becoming food for a Biter and when I find that dusty road I'm seeing spots of grey and everything is getting fuzzy.

The sky is a pale blue, almost purple, but I'm struggling with pulling my left leg along, my hands actually holding my thigh to lift it. I'm mumbling to myself, vaguely aware of how hoarse my voice is and how I'm rambling incoherent rubbish. I'm close to collapsing when a Biter bumbles from the bushes and stumbles mere feet from where I stand clutching the crippling wound that was my calf and trying to haul it forward, because it's bleeding and the bone could slip again. It charges towards me and swings its arms, gargling, getting closer and closer. I'm wondering if I can strangle it with shoelaces or something, but everything is spinning and I don't have the strength to even try.

The Biter glows - it has a golden halo so bright I have to shield my eyes from it because it stings, and its gurgling becomes harsh and heavy, a strange rumbling sound. I'm delirious, I decide. I've lost too much blood. I'm going to die and the coward Campbell still breathes, still survives. I'm the bear and the wolf that didn't stand on traps with padded teeth. I'm the bear and the wolf that stood on something unforgiving, with teeth sharp enough to slice bone. I'm the bear and the wolf that tried chewing its limbs to free itself in the hopes that it might live just that little bit longer.

"Fifty points if you can hit it between the eyes, little brother!"

Something embeds itself within the eyeball of this Biter, and it sort of shudders and then falls with a final thump and reveals that blinding halo was really a motorcycle hiding the silhouettes of two men. I'm stumbling again, mumbling soft sobs and sniveling and trying to lift my leg to try and run because it's them, the men that shot my friends and left Fineshrine in fiery rubble and ruins - and one of them is laughing, loudly, his hand slapping his thigh. He claps his companion on the shoulder, cawing and cackling about his shot.

I fall, and my bone slips again; I can feel it slide from the skin and then I can see it, pale and poking from the flesh and my shoelaces slip too in a glorious spectacle of gore - they weren't enough to hold it, I need bandages and a wooden splint but it seems that isn't going to happen. Then I scream, the pain flaring and my fingers holding my shin and I can hear footsteps, closer and closer. Through tears I can tell they're standing with hands on hips, staring down and whispering to one another.

"What are you staring at?" I spat, figuring if they were gonna shoot me, I'd tell them exactly what I thought of them for what they'd done to Fineshrine, for what they'd done to my friends.

The taller man thought that this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, howling with this scratchy sort of laughter and shaking his head slowly. "You hear that, baby brother? She speaks!"

His brother didn't find it very funny at all. "You bit?" he asked bluntly.

"No," I wheezed, a sudden pain shooting from my shin and making me shudder.

"You look rough for someone that isn't bit," the taller man said, as if he didn't quite believe me.

"Oh yeah?" I grumbled, giving him a glare. "And what's your excuse?"

He was howling again, giving his brother's shoulder another slap. He was a grizzly kind of guy, this stranger, with grey stubble and a buzz-cut to boot. His eyes are pale, peering at my left leg and I see his laughter dying and his lips pursing. He reaches out as if he's gonna try and touch my leg, even though I'm rolling around on the ground and grimacing, but his brother slaps his hand away and mutters something like, don't be stupid, ya moron. This starts an argument between them, but I can barely hear them. I'm lying on a dusty road with two dip-shits shouting at one another about my leg, about how I might be bitten and I'm just hoping I don't die in the meantime. A blur bends down and I realise it's the younger man, and he says, "What happened to you then, if you weren't bit?"

"Bear-trap," I whispered dizzily. "Stood on a bear-trap."

"Well that was stupid," the older brother huffed from where he stood behind his baby brother, obviously still sore about whatever had been said during their fighting. "What'd you go and do that for?"

"I thought I'd test it out, make sure it works," I snapped sarcastically, "...I didn't mean to, you idiot, it was an accident, I was-...I was running from the fire, from the...the men that-..."

"The fire behind that forest?" the younger one said, nodding his head in the general direction I had dragged myself from. "That's what that was about, an ambush or somethin'?"

"Or something," I said, rolling towards him, eyes barely capable of finding his face because everything was still fuzzy.

"What's your name?" the older one asked, cocking his head and putting his hands on his hips again.

"Maisie Bellerose," I said, sounding slurred.

"I'm Merle Dixon," he replied. "That's my brother, Darylena."

"Daryl," the brother muttered, dipping his head as if he's embarrassed, but Merle was merely laughing as if he hadn't even heard. He seemed to find everything funny.

Daryl was thoughtful, taking in the things that his brother did not - my shoelaces, still loosely tied around my leg, the bone sticking from the gash, but he was staying silent. I thought he was handsome, much better than his brother. He was softer, but still somehow rough, because he'd seen the sort of things that gave him shadows beneath his blue eyes. His brother scuffed the dirt with his boot and it created a cloud of dust, and still the younger brother was staring at me, drifting towards my calf and then to my eyes again.

"I guess we ought'a stitch you up then."

II

In my groggy slumber, I saw glimpses of flames and a firing squad and falling shadows - I saw all of this and I was screaming, squirming, when a hand held itself against my mouth, holding me against something solid. My eyes were bleary and stinging from the sunlight squeezing itself through curtains of heavy cotton, and I understood I was in a kitchen and someone was trying to smother me, their dirty hand crushing hard against my lips and drawing blood. They said, shut yer mouth or they'll hear us, ya stupid- but I bite them and their words are cut short by harsh curses, my teeth tearing the skin enough for them to howl like a beast and take their hand from my mouth. I can finally focus my eyes and realise I'm resting on a table and it's Merle, sitting behind me, cradling his hand against his chest and he's got a temper because he raises his hand as if he's gonna to hit me, but then I hear Daryl growl, "Don't even think about it, Merle, she didn't mean it."

Merle's eyes are bloodshot and sore, as if he's been crying, but something tells me he hasn't. His lips form a thin line, his temper fading. We're in a kitchen that has wallpaper from the fifties, all flowers and the colour of soft cream - if it wasn't for the blood spatter and the dead Biter on the floor, it'd be almost cozy. Almost, even if Merle is muttering and his hands slither along my shoulders, holding me again and I'm about to ask why when Daryl pushes my bone into place again and I'm squirming, squealing and screeching. I can't help myself, even with Merle hissing at me to stay silent because they saw "them dead bastards" in the garden of this house we're hiding in. My eyes roll, drinking in the dust dancing in the sunlight of the kitchen and the crushed cans sitting on the counter, wondering if this is where the brothers have been staying all along.

Daryl doesn't tell me that he's about to thread a needle through my flesh and stitch it together using string that seems too thick for this sort of thing, but I feel it. I feel it and fight against the force of Merle holding me down, cursing him and cursing Daryl and cursing myself, too, even when my vision was fading and Merle's voice was echoing in my ears, my words becoming whispers.

III

Merle viciously rips apart the flesh of a bunny rabbit with his teeth, chomping and chewing loudly, his elbows balancing on his knees where he sits in an armchair across from me. He isn't very graceful, this grizzly man, burping and belching. I'm lying on a sofa, staring at him from beneath a blanket, feeling sore and sad and trying to smother it all. Merle's eyes flicker to find mine and he bites another strip from the spine of the bunny, not caring that spittle dribbles along his chin. I burrow beneath the blanket because the sight of him makes me queasy, but Merle doesn't seem to mind what I do, if it means I don't bother him. When we met, he had been in a different kind of mood, all husky laughs and lots of hollering, but in the small amount of time we'd been sitting together, he hadn't said much apart from Daryl's keeping us safe, don't you worry. What that meant exactly, I couldn't quite discern because that meant Daryl was either dealing with the 'dead bastards' Merle had mentioned earlier, or he was simply standing in the garden with a gun - or rather, a crossbow. I'd seen it when they'd left me lying on the sofa, mumbling to myself and squirming in pain, suffering through a feverish slumber.

"Mais-ie Belle-rose," Merle said all of a sudden, and I peeked at him from beneath the blanket. "I must tell you, Mais-ie, my brother and I were quite impressed by your, uh...brave attempt at fixing yer bones with just a pair of shoelaces."

Merle was mocking me with a sneering smile, snickering. I was staying perfectly still, but my eyes told him exactly what I thought, how I was warning him not to push it and my head hit my pillow with a huff of annoyance. Except Merle either didn't understand he was upsetting me, or he just didn't care - and I knew which guess was the right one by how his eyes trailed towards my left leg, which was still hidden beneath the blanket.

"Gon' be quite the scar," he murmured. "Nasty thing, that leg of yours. This uh, bear-trap you stood in - got you good, it did. Straight through the bone. You'll live - I mean, if you don't get infected and we don't got to amputate that leg - but you'll walk a little funny. Hope you aren't vain, sweetheart."

"Well I guess I should always stand beside you then, shouldn't I? At least then I'll still be a prettier sight than you are."

Merle grinned, baring his teeth and giving me a shrug. "Well who says you'll have me to stand beside, little lady? What makes you think my brother and I aren't waitin' to move on out a' this shithole without you? We got you stitched up, lady, helped fix that bone a' yours, but that don't mean we're hanging around to watch you take baby steps all over again like we're your momma, nuh-uh. We don't owe you a damn thing, not one damn thing. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, you owe us. Those are our bandages around that leg of yours, our blanket keepin' you warm, our food in your belly. Not yours."

"And here I was thinking you had a heart," I grumbled sarcastically, shifting beneath the blanket that apparently I was blessed by Merle Dixon to even have brushing against my skin.

"Oh I got a heart, honey, and it's beating and I'd like to keep it that way," he replied. "Dragging dead weight like you around, now that's foolish, you'd only slow us down, much as it might hurt to hear it."

Merle Dixon had said something that made my heart hammer, like a hummingbird that was trapped in my chest and trying to free itself by banging against my ribcage. And boy, had it hurt. He had said dead weight and my brain swelled with thoughts of Myla, of how she had been afraid of falling behind in a hurry. She might have been one of the shadows shot by a firing squad, though my faithful heart hoped she had escaped somehow, but I was blind because I didn't know who had been shot and who hadn't. Dead weight or not, most of them had died and I didn't want Merle Dixon realizing he'd hit a nerve - but he'd sensed something anyhow, because I hadn't said anything to him and he saw my stinging eyes I suppose.

He stood, tossing the carcass of that bunny rabbit with the rest of the rubbish that was all around this house and then he said, "I'm just telling you what you already know. And you do know it, don't you? Because one way or another, Daryl and I are gonna survive this shit, sweetheart. Whether you do or you don't, that don't matter to us, not one bit. You gotta hear it. You know you do."

Then he left, leaving me to cry from a pain that wasn't brought on by the ache in my leg.

IV

I was afraid of the Dixon Brothers even if I didn't really have reason to be; we sat in silence, slurping cans of cold beans which they had been gracious enough to share - well, Daryl was gracious, Merle had been grouchy about it. They weren't with the men that had taken Fineshrine or shot my friends, I could tell that much. What I was afraid of was what would happen, if they might hurt me or something - it was stupid, because they probably wouldn't have helped me if that was their plan, and I suppose I was being a bit paranoid. Daryl was sitting on the floor, Merle in his armchair again and I was still lying on the sofa, leg safely hidden beneath blankets because I was sort of embarrassed by it even if it was in bandages. It was hideous - I'd seen it when Daryl was still tying bandages around it. A gash with raw, red ridges. I had seen enough to believe in Merle's words when he said I'd never walk right again, that'd I'd always hobble or heave my leg along like I had the night we'd found one another. Daryl, he didn't say much, and that was both a blessing and a bitch of a thing to deal with because I was wondering if he was just waiting for the moment he and Merle could bail and leave me with a bum leg. Merle was moody again, not very happy that I'd been hogging their dwindling supplies - their food, their bandages, their blankets as he was fond of saying - but Daryl had not said anything about it. He simply sat shovelling spoonfuls of cold beans into his mouth, pausing only when Merle threw his to the floor with a hard thud that made me flinch.

"Well, Daryl and I, we're gonna get going in the morning," he said, clapping his hands together and taking a stand.

The can of cold beans in my hand had been forgotten, my spoon falling from my mouth and plopping into the pale orange slop with a pop. "You are?"

"Yes ma'am, we are," he smiled, but his eyes slipped from me to Daryl, and that smile died a sudden death. "Daryl, don't you even dare-..."

Daryl was very calm, putting his can on the floor and then staring at his brother without a flicker of fear even though Merle's fists were clenching and his jaw was tensing. "We can't just leave her Merle, she can't even walk with that leg, what if one of the dead bastards get in? She can't do anything to defend herself."

"Why's that our problem? She got herself hurt, it's her fault! I ain't responsible for stupidity-..."

"That's a surprise because you seem to have enough of it," I spat at Merle, and he took a menancing step forward. I doubt he'd have really done anything, even if Daryl hadn't stood and raised a hand to press against Merle's chest to push him away, because he didn't seem that angry about what I'd said. It was more of a threat, his method of trying to make me shut my mouth.

"She'll die, Merle," Daryl murmured softly, as if it was only for his brother to hear. But I heard him. I heard him loud and clear.

"Everyone dies," he scoffed. "It don't mean we gotta die with her."

"You don't mean that," Daryl replied, his eyebrows stitching together in something akin to disappointment.

"It's not our problem," Merle growled, standing uncomfortably close to Daryl so he could get right in his face, "...but then again, you always were a pussy, weren't you, Darylena? You gotta be tough, if you wanna survive, you gotta be a man, if you wanna survive! She..." - he paused to point at me - "...she ain't gon' survive."

"Yes I am," I hissed, because I felt I had to defend myself somehow. Merle had a talent for making my eyes burn with tears I didn't want to fall, not in front of him and his brother. "I'll make it with or without you."

"You see!" Merle hollered, holding his hands in the air and clapping them as if he was cheering.

"She's only saying that because she don't want to admit she needs help," Daryl muttered, and Merle's hands fell to his sides in annoyance. "She's stubborn, like you, moron."

"I didn't realise you were such a hero, little brother," Merle drawled, pretending to wipe his eyes as if seeing Daryl for the first time - he had a flair for the dramatics, apparently, but Daryl wasn't finding it very amusing. He was staring his brother down, tense and defiant. Merle had this cruel smile, like he thought Daryl was being cute and he was going to crush him for it. "I'll tell you what - I'll tell you how it is, how it's gon' be. We'll take her with us, and she'll slow us down. Another mouth to feed, and with that leg we'll have to find bandages for her too. We'll drag her along even if she can't do anything to help us out, and she'll be complainin' about the pain, and you'll feel bad for her and then we'll have to find pills for her -..."

"You seem to have plenty," Daryl grunted.

I swear Merle froze as if he'd been slapped. Even Daryl, in the silence that fell after what he'd said, cast his gaze to the floor as if regretting what he'd said. Merle, he was floundering between being mad and being surprised by Daryl's words, but then his eyes slid towards where I was staring at him and then, suddenly, he gave Daryl a shove. My throat tightened, watching Daryl stumble backwards as if he'd expected this of Merle and this was what he'd been waiting for, because he didn't do anything even when Merle kept shoving him, saying things like you're real tough Darylena and you playing the good guy all of a sudden, is that what's going on?

"Stop it!"

Merle, his hands were still holding Daryl's shirt, but he heard my words and gave him a final shove before turning to face me - he was tall and threatening, given that I was still sitting on the sofa. I didn't flinch when I saw his fists clench again, because he was deflating as if he was realising all he had said to his brother and how Daryl was rubbing his chest and how I was staring at him in horror. He marched for the kitchen and we heard the door slam, which was stupid and dangerous if a Biter was around, but Daryl didn't seem too worried. He bent down to grab his cans of beans and then collapsed onto the armchair Merle had been sitting on with an unceremonious grunt, eating as if nothing had even happened.

I was wondering what exactly Daryl had meant by Merle having enough pills for the pain I was feeling, because I hadn't been given any if he did, not that I'd take them because Merle didn't exactly like me, to put it lightly. Perhaps they'd taken pills from a pharmacy - but then I thought about Merle's mood-swings, the high he'd been riding when we met on that dirt road, his bloodshot eyes and bad temper - had he been taking something? Daryl was simmering in an angry silence, and if what I was thinking was the truth then I didn't want to say anything, because from what I'd seen it was quite obvious he and Merle hadn't really spoken about what pills Merle might be taking and it had been bothering Daryl to the point where he couldn't help himself from spewing words Merle didn't want to hear.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, fiddling with the fabric of my blanket, feeling bashful. "I didn't mean to make you and your brother fight."

Daryl grunted, apparently deciding whether or not it was worth saying anything. Then he sighed, shrugging, "Weren't your fault. We've been fighting anyhow."

All I could say was, "Oh."

Oh. How stupid I must seem, with all the words I could possibly pluck from my brain, and all I could say was oh.

"We'll help you fix your leg, get you walking again," Daryl said, his voice low and gravelly like his brother's. "Then you're on your own."

"Thank you. I mean that Daryl, thank you, I'd have died without you."

"Whatever," he grumbled, but his flesh had become a flush sort of colour and he was curiously incapable of looking at anything but the can of beans in his hands. In fact, I was almost falling asleep when he suddenly said, "What happened to you anyway?"

"I told you," I said sleepily, "..I stood on a-..."

"Bear-trap, yeah, I know that," he said, and I shifted on the sofa to stare at him as he spoke. "I meant - I meant at the house, or whatever. Where the fire was."

"Oh." There it was again, that stupid oh. I swallowed nervously, and he noticed this, switching his gaze to the can of beans again because he seemed to understand I was struggling with my words. He was a patient man, and I only wished his brother was too. In a soft whisper I told Daryl all about Fineshrine, even the forest and what I had to do because I figured he'd seen exactly what I had and worse, and when I told him of Elijah I couldn't help but cry - something Daryl wasn't really comfortable with by his fidgeting, but that he sat through because I couldn't help myself, the words were spilling from my mouth without fail. When I spoke of Rose my voice was hard, cold even.

When I had finished, Daryl sat and thought about things for a while, stirring the can of beans with quiet contemplation. "Rose Campbell, huh?"

I nodded. "Ahuh."

"What a bitch."

It was so blunt and blatant that he made me laugh, and this surprised him - his eyes snapped towards mine as if he was startled, expecting pain or panic or something terrible to be happening but he found only laughter. And he smiled too. It was shy and uncertain as if he hadn't smiled in a while, and I'm betting he hadn't, but it was a smile and I thought he had a sweet sort of smile, this Daryl Dixon.

V

All I had was stitches, a splint of wood and tape keeping my bones together beneath the bandages. If I had to pee, Daryl had to help me hop to the bathroom that they had - or rather, the bushes in the garden, which was a bit humiliating but Daryl stood staring straight at the gate surrounding us while I did what I had to. It was almost always Daryl that did this, apart from the times when he was hunting and if I couldn't hold it in then I had to hop along with Merle, which was hardly delightful because all he did was stand behind and watch my wobbling hobble without helping at all. I mean, he'd catch me if I was falling, but he'd crush my arm in his grip and give me a shove to get me standing again. One morning, I'm limping along with my hands pressing against the walls of the hallway to support myself, sweating and struggling with my leg, and I've had to pee for hours but I didn't said anything because Daryl wasn't around. Merle, he was taking slow steps behind, surprisingly silent for such a smartass and something told me that Merle didn't quite trust me - perhaps it was the gun in his hands or the hostile glares he gave sometimes. Then came the hurdle I always had trouble with - two steps at the door, very small but still a struggle because I couldn't exactly bend my knee with the bone of my calf being delicate and all, but I could do it if I clung to the wall and sort of collapsed against it - but it wasn't easy.

"Hurry it along, Peaches, we ain't got all day. You gon' piss your pants before you get down to that garden - should'a asked Daryl to find us some diapers for you 'stead 'a food."

"That's funny, I was gonna ask you if I could borrow a pair, given you're such a big baby about everything anyway," I grimaced, putting my burning forehead against the wall and hoping the sudden bolt of pain might pass.

"You should be grateful I'm helping you," he grumbled, shifting his gun in his hands. "I ain't a nurse to nobody."

"Probably because you'd look hideous in the uniform," I muttered.

He grinned. "What about you, Peaches? How would you look in that sort'a uniform? I can imagine it now - I'm lying on the bed, all ready and waitin' for ya, and then you come limpin' in on that leg and suddenly I ain't feelin' so hot. Fact, I'm feeling like I ought'a be running from you 'stead 'a towards you."

"Well then take another look around the trailer park, I'm sure you'll find someone better who isn't missing too many teeth and who aren't related to you by blood - though that'd hardly stop you even if they were, now would it?" I hissed, taking on those two steps and making it without Merle's help.

When I did finally reach the bushes, I hid and had to hike up my dress and do my business with much difficulty because I hadn't anything to balance myself with. Then I tried hopping on one foot towards where Merle should have been standing, but instead I'm staring at bristling blades of grass and the body of a Biter that'd been shot with an arrow. That bastard. That bastard, is all I'm thinking when trying to get to the house again. It takes a bloody lot longer to hop and balance without a helping hand, even if it is a reluctant one. The steps at the door are torture and I'm panting, pressing my lips together and trying my hardest to pull myself into the house without letting him hear me whimpering whenever the pain hits.

I find him reclining on the sofa where I usually lay, his left leg resting on the pillow Daryl had given me despite Merle's protests about 'pampering the damn girl', and he's smiling as if he's been waiting a while for me to make it to the house. Which, I suppose, he has.

"Merle, please move." I'm holding the doorframe, balancing on one leg.

His eyes widen, pretending to be surprised and then he was leaning forward to put his hands around his left leg. "Oh, I would, but would you believe I've hurt my leg? Can't even stand on it. Looks like I'm gon' have to sit and wait for it to heal."

The ache in my calf was vibrating, and with a very calm voice, I said, "Merle, this isn't funny."

His mouth fell open. "Well, I am surprised at you Miss Bellerose, I thought you of all people would have compassion for a poor man in his time of need!"

"Move, Merle."

"Is that how you spoke to your old gang? Making demands and such?"

"Shut up," I said weakly, having a hard time standing with my leg hurting so much. I was pressing my forehead against the palm of my hand, aching and angry with him for being petty. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I think I do," he drawled, still sneering. "You thought you'd take us for a pair 'a suckers, and steal everything we got because you're like the injured little lamb that escaped the slaughter, ain't ya?"

"I'm not stealing from you-..."

"But you'd like to, I'd bet. Oh, I'd bet you'd like to. I ain't falling for it, no sir. I got my eye on you, little girl. Don't you forget it."

I was hardly hearing him, sweat beading along my temple and my hands shaking badly. I wasn't supposed to be standing for this long, Daryl had told me that many times, not when the bone was still trying to heal itself. In a frail voice, I told him, "I'm not trying to steal from you, Merle. I'm not a thief and I'm not trying to trick you. I'll leave. Soon as my leg heals, I'll leave."

Merle didn't say anything, but for once he wasn't trying to rattle me, staring as if he was considering what I'd said - and this was the most he'd ever resembled Daryl, when his mouth was shut. Then he stood, strolling towards me with a smile. "I'll hold you to that, sister."