I watched him for a good 20 minutes, leaning against another tree, but as I stood. My mind drifted, as it often does.

There were plenty of opportunities to learn this stuff before. Why now?

Why not before, when we did gun practice, or during the search for our lost lamb.

There's just one thing I can't figure out about that whole ordeal, and it's been eating at the back of my mind for days now.

When Rick & Hershel were bringing those two walkers to the barn. You can see the barn from every corner of the property. Especially from the house.

"Hey"

Rick turned around.

"When you and Hershel were takin' those walkers to the barn. Do you really believe they didn't know she was in there."

Rick leaned his weight on one leg. "I do"

"Why?"

"Because" Rick drawled, in a heavy exhausted tone. "Hershel told me Otis must'a put her in there before he died. I believe him. He has no reason to lie about that, nor was he in the state too."

I put my hands up. "I'm not tryna start a fight. Just trying to get my head around this."

He sighed; visible tension lifting from his shoulders. "Sorry. I know. I been tryna do the same thing."

Are things that bad between him and everyone? That he feels the need to defend his stance in a simple conversation?

I observed him carefully and it was long enough to make him ask, "What?"

Seems Daryl isn't the only one I need to say this to. "I've got your back, Rick."

He looked at me, confounded.

"That won't change, even if I don't agree with everything you do or every decision that's made."

Rick chuckled, and I almost saw the exact moment of relief. Just hearing someone say it. I forget sometimes that not everybody has the same distrust of words that I do.

"You sure have been chatty lately."

It was my turn to chuckle. Because Daryl said the same thing to me before. "Desperate times. Desperate measures."

Rick's smile began to fade as he stared at the crunchy orange leaves on the ground.

So he sees it too. Daryl & I aren't the only ones who see what's happening. What's tracking on this group's horizon.

I took a deep breath, leaning my head back against the tree.

Otis, huh?

I never got to meet the man, but from what I know he was a decent person. Perhaps more so than we are anymore.

He was responsible for Carl's gunshot wound but he's also the reason he's alive.

I can't hate the man for what happened, it was an accident, and he tried to fix it, which is more than I can say for most people. Before or after the turn.

Wait but, that all went down the day after Sophia went missing. If Otis is the one who put her in the barn, that means...

I made my way towards Daryl at the treeline, where he was adjusting a newly made arrow.

He noticed me as I came up and stood, holding his crossbow in front of his chest with the loaded arrow aimed at the ground. "Have a nice chat?"

Rick and mine's conversation echoed in my head. I nodded.

Daryl looked at me oddly for a moment before jerking his head and we started off into the woods.

I hopped the fence, doing a scan as Daryl hopped over, landing just behind me. I glanced over my shoulder at him and took out my knives.

"S'go" He started forward, watching the ground and I followed, watching around us.

The familiar routine of keeping an eye out while Daryl found tracks brought a sort of solace to the plague I'd taken onto my mind through my own curiosity; my need to understand. Worst part is, it doesn't even matter that I figured out what happened to her.

For once in my life, I'd rather I didn't know.

Within 10 minutes of the farm leaving sight, we were back to one of the few places that brings me tranquility.

In the deep woods, I felt like I could breathe again. Nothing matters here, except for what's right in front of you. Everything else just fades with the bird song.

It isn't complicated, it isn't cruel, it's just nature. Straightforward, simple. No moralistic debate, no runaway minds to put back on track, no fear to tame. Just me, Daryl, the sunlight through thick leaves that have slowly begun to turn yellow, the distant sound of animals going about what they've always done, and the soft ground beneath our feet.

Nothing has changed in the woods. Nothing's changed in nature. It's all just different life forms & organisms bumping up against one another.

For nature, this plague which has brought mankind to our knees, is simply a new predator atop the food chain. One that, after centuries, has finally managed to dethrone humankind.

Out here, things are simple. I much prefer it out here to a farm where everyone's losing their goddamn minds. Who are one bad argument & one poor decision away from spilling each other's guts.

I know why Daryl wants to leave. I see it more and more clearly every minute we're out here.

The woods are to Daryl, as the night sky is to me. A place where you can hear yourself think. A place that helps you see clearly. Something that reminds you just how small you are compared to the world, but no less or more important than the organisms around you. No matter if you're smarter or stronger, bigger or smaller. A single tree is an entire world, and connected to the trees around it, it becomes a galaxy. Connect those to the forests & streams around them and you get a galaxy. Connect them to every other stream, creature, and forest in the globe and you have a universe. All contained on one tiny rock hurtling through space; basking in the warmth of a star the way a plant drinks the rain.

Maybe… I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to be out here on your own. Daryl & I can both handle ourselves, we clearly have no trouble being alone.

There'd be no drama. No power struggles. No moral debates.

If worse comes to worse, if Daryl really decides to leave… maybe I should too.

I don't like the idea of leaving the others. I don't like the idea of anyone else leaving either, but with the way things are tracking, it's not gonna matter much whether I like it or not.

I don't want the group to split. These people have become a family to me. Family is something I've never known before, but I don't know what to do to stop it.

I tried giving the men in charge a good scolding, and I'd hoped they'd bring things back on track, and it's done them some good from what I've seen but the group's still drifting.

If the others start dividing and a split is on the horizon, I'll have to make a very tough decision. Whether I'm getting out with Daryl before shit goes down, or if I'm gonna wait for the clock to run down; trying to fix something I'm not even sure can be fixed.

I don't know if it's just because I've misunderstood what it means to be a group or not, but the latter option sounds an awful lot like going down with the ship.

I don't know much about family or friends, but Glenn taught me one thing. You don't die for friends, you live for them. And I have most certainly lived for these people since before we left the quarry. To me, they are family, but am I the only one who sees it that way?

I know family's are meant to fight and squabble but they always come back together, no? That's what it's supposed to be like, isn't it?

Whether or not that means I should try to save what's already gone? I don't know. But I'm at least going to try. Even if it's a futile struggle. Because to me, that's what it means to be family.

A shuffle in the corner of my vision had me stopping, and I tapped Daryl's hunched back. He turned and I pointed at the walker shuffling it's oblivious way towards us.

He nodded at me and I confirmed with a nod of my own before splitting off, going back a few steps and coming around the back side.

I watched for other walkers and spotted two more farther down the way we were headed before I slid my knife up the back of the walkers skull.

I whistled at the other two as the body dropped, and they turned; growling as they spotted me.

They began to stumble my way and I turned around, walking back. I glanced over my shoulder every few seconds until the two were positioned between me and Daryl.

I flipped my knife in my hand and threw it just before a bolt pierced the one closest to me.

My knife sailed through the air, glinting in the sunlight before it went straight into the other walker's forehead before it could even get close to grabbing Daryl. It's head was pulled back with the impact and sent it's lifeless heap, onto it's back in the muddy forest floor.

Daryl glanced behind him at the walker and moved to pull the knife out of its cranium with a gross scraping sound; Like the kind you hear from a grinding two rocks together.

I pulled his arrow out of this one with a crunchy 'slick' and swiped it off on the walker's grimy ripped shirt which I suspect used to be white.

He swiped my knife off on the other's red jacket before carefully tossing the blade back to me. I caught the steadily thrown blade and spun his arrow like a pen between my fingers as I walked back, before bracing it with two fingers; holding the feathered end out to him.

He reloaded his crossbow as I glanced around again. My eyes settled on the bodies.

"There's been more of 'em lately."

I hummed, glancing at Daryl as he came to stand next to me, looking over the bodies.

"There were hardly any of 'em when we got 'ere. Seems like there's more and more everyday now." Daryl looked around, to make sure we weren't drawing any unwanted attention, or scaring off any game; even though his voice was low as he spoke.

I nodded again, making a small noise of agreement.

Where are they coming from, though? It's not like there's much around here. There's not much for them to eat —not compared to other places. We're miles from the nearest dense population area too.

What could be drawing them out this far?

"It don' sit right." Daryl voiced my thoughts exactly.

I looked around, humming in response.

They came from that way. If we can find out where they're coming from, maybe we can at least figure out how many there are and whether or not we should be concerned.