Everyone went through their own shit when the world goes to hell in a hand basket. There is always a story or two that goes untold. Poor little Sophia Peletier's was one of them. Even with the groups best trackers right on the little girl's tail, her story was only told in pieces. They knew who saw her last. They knew where she had stopped. They could smell the fright in every step, but they did not know what happened to the child. No one could fathom the pain, the suffering. Was she dead? They asked. Was she alive? Everyone did their best. They all worked together towards their goal of finding the missing girl, but… it was never meant to be. Events could have been different. They may have found the girl in time. Her mother could have pulled the small weeping form into a warm embrace and celebrate the good in life….

A gun shot echoing through the wooded area changed that happy ending.

"Carl!" Rick's scream of anguish was quick to echo after. A father watching his son fall to the ground changed everything for one little girl lost in the woods. Everyone's attention was immediately on their last child, unintentionally gun down in a hunting accident. This child they could save. This child could live. At least, that was their hope.

Two men, though ragged and rough, never gave up. They set up an unspoken shift of continuous searching for the renegade girl Up at first light, they huddled around a map, stolen from the residence they were staying, of the area, strategically zoning areas, clearing them, and marking them off the list by the end of the day.

That is, until the youngest of the two didn't come back at check in.

"Have you seen Daryl?" Arron asked the group sitting around the fire pit.

Rick and Lori looked at each other, sharing a silent conversation. Then, Rick was looking back at the scared man, shaking his head; negative. T-dog and Glen were agreeing; no.

The worried man felt his heart sink at the sight but refused to give up. He turned walking up to the RV where Andrea was awkwardly trying to comfort Carol, Dale sitting up on the roof keeping watch. "By any chance, have you guys seen Daryl?"

Carol gave a long, heartbreaking wail as tears started streaming down her cheeks. Andrea just glared at him, and Arron took it as a no. Shifting eyes, slowly going from gray to blue in the fading light, turn their attention to the old man sitting above them. Dale lifted his watch binoculars to his face, looked around out the outer edges of their clearing, and then shook his head. Another no. Arron sighed, said his thanks and, once again, turned, this time towards the house.

Arron took the steps up to the screen door one at a time, reluctant to hear his answer from the Greene group that holed up in the farm house but still needing the answer, just in case. The man knocked politely on the wood of the door and waited for someone to answer.

A pretty brunette answered his knock. "Yes?" she was asking in polite curiosity.

Arron took a moment to gather his long lost memories of southern culture, before opening his mouth and asked in his rusty mid-class voice, "I'm sorry to bother you, Madame, but have you, per chance, seen Daryl. He is the tall brunette man, usually seen carrying a crossbow."

The woman looked impressed, maybe even shocked, that Arron even knew how to be anything but… rugged, for the lack of better wording. She took a moment, probably musing the question over. For a moment, Arron felt a spark of gratitude at her politeness. "No," the woman said, shaking her head, "I'm sorry. May I ask what happened? Why are you looking for him?"

Arron paused, already in the process of starting to thank the woman. "He went out to look for the missing child, Sophia, and hasn't come back yet, it seems," Arron explained, his whole face twisting with worry.

"Oh," the woman replied, politely, "I'm sorry to hear that. If I happen to see him, I will let him know you are looking for him, Mr…"

Arron was surprised. This was the first he had heard of someone from the Greene's group asking for an introduction. "Oh, I'm sorry. I am Arron," he introduced himself, "Just, Arron now." He didn't have a family to claim anymore, hadn't had one in a long time.

"Okay, Just Arron," she replied a little playfully, grinning at the blush that crossed the scared cheeks, "I will tell this Daryl that you are looking for him."

"Thank you, Madame."

"Just Maggie. Maggie Greene."

"Okay, Ms. Gr-"

"No, just Maggie." It was the first rude interruption she had made the whole conversation with Arron, so he assumed it really bothered her.

"Okay, Maggie. I appreciate it. Truly." Then Arron was turning away from the house with a quiet, "Good day." The Greene's group marked off the list, Arron had no choice but to try and retrace Daryl's footsteps.

Arron tracked through the camp with his trusty Ninja bag slung onto his back like it was a backpack, an emergency blanket (the silver blanket that EMTs and First responders use) folded and tucked neatly (as it could get when one just threw it on a duffle and then put the duffle on like a backpack) between the duffle and the his broad back, a hiking rope was, painfully, wrapped around the body and duffle a few times as tight as he could get it. His black boots crunching heavily under his steps, his face completely blank, Arron picked up another bag, this one smaller, almost Coach size, and tied it to the strap of his Ninja bag with some fishing twine, wrapping around a few times from the top to the bottom making it secure. He had clipped one of those popular branded bungee cord like bracelet, this one with a watch enter face tied into it, onto his wrist. Once all of his gear was in place, Arron strapped his Katana into place at his waist, a few throwing knife holders strapped to his wrists, upper arms, and right mid-thigh; he was ready. This situation was serious for Arron, and it showed with how dangerously he dressed for his mission.

People stared at him as he walked by, taking in his almost soldier like appearance (if that soldier was forced to work with civilian items that is). Most of them didn't understand how important rope, fishing twine and weight, and the mini flash light hanging from his belt were. They didn't quite grasp the seriousness of being lost in a forest, especially one over ran with flesh eaters, having never had to worry about it. They always had their phones for GPS. Daryl, Merle and Arron had to read the forest and, if possible, the stars to get back. Arron hadn't had to pull out this much of his survival gear in a long time (not since Daryl was 8 and ran away from home), so he wasn't surprised by the upset looks (because, let's face it, Arron was holding back almost the whole time the group had been together).

Arron took their original route from the morning into the forest, this time going right, instead of the left turn he took at dawn. It would be difficult, what with the sun about to fall soon, but he was determined he was going to find his child… his lover; somewhere in this mess they call a forest.

If they could have saved her, they would never really know. However, the lost little girl was dead when the boy got shot. Her struggle went on for a few days more than most, that determined little girl was fighting for her life. She fought with all her might, hoping to be saved, praying for the safety she once had. The girl cursed the gods who played with her fate, screaming to the heavens about how unfair.

Somewhere in the very same forest, where a man set off to save his heart, a little girl finally succumbed to the Zombie Curse, her last breath was a plea for her Mama, the gentle soul who sang away the pain. The fear that kept her going dissolved into a peace that dragged her down. She was by no means happy, but, now, in death, her soul was content. Maybe, in the next life, if there is one, Sophia Peletier will be able to live a happier, more carefree life with her mother when the woman passed on. For now, the girl's soul was content to wait, for death comes to us all. When it came for her mother, she would be there waiting for her warm embrace.

Without anyone noticing, a mother failed at her job, a father failed to protect, and a man had lost his heart all within days of each other. Was this a sign? They would have asked if they had just taken note.

You know what they say, "tragedy comes in threes."