Daryl was after her to rest more; would gently push her onto the couch, refused to let her hunt or haul or dig. Time ate Beth up - every little bit of her brain - any piece of it that she used to be able to quiet with movement or exhaustion. All she had were dragging days, the long hours crawling past as she waited - bracing herself for the worst. Always the worst.

There was an urge to scream, loud and long, until she appeared out of the nothingness. Her bright eyes and blond hair lighting up every dank corner of his soul. You said you'd keep her safe, and now you can't even find her, Dixon. Some protector you are. (Sequel to Was & Gone)

Beth was taken that night, but she had survived; well, most of her had survived. It's been a year, maybe two, and she's been making it all on her own — moving, always moving. But no matter how many times she says it to herself "was" and "gone" just aren't compatible with Daryl Dixon.