Daryl narrowed his eyes. Then he closed them. It always helped to lessen the use of one of his senses when he needed to strengthen another. He willed his ears to open. Even if such a thing wasn't really possible, he felt like it was.
The woods around him were quiet again. He could hear things, of course—he could hear all the sounds that told him the woods were alive with game and, yes, even Walkers—but he couldn't hear the sound he'd heard before. He couldn't hear what had made him stop, for just a second, and focus his attention.
Walkers made a crashing sort of noise when they moved around. They shuffled, dragging dead feet. They didn't often break sticks because that would have required a dexterity which many of them, especially these days, simply didn't have.
The sound of the stick breaking was a clear indication that Daryl wasn't alone.
And he had a gut feeling that it hadn't been an animal that had broken the stick. The crack had been too loud. The stick had been too large.
Willing himself to focus, stilling even his breath, he listened deeper. He heard it. It was the softest of footfalls. The person was walking lightly. They were trying to keep from drawing attention. It sounded clear, though, that they were concerned about drawing Walker attention. They weren't trying to be too quiet for Daryl to hear.
He turned, bow raised, just as the person stepped from beyond a small, thick patch of trees. He took aim and, as soon as his eyes focused, his heart stopped. He dropped the bow.
"You scared the shit outta me!" He growled.
Her bow was raised, too, but she lowered it quickly.
"Me? You just about got yourself shot!" Carol said. "We agreed this was my section!"
"The deer come this way! Blame him, not me."
"I could have shot him!"
"Not if I shoot him first," Daryl said with a smile.