Carol followed Daryl to a gift shop called Kingdom of Sleep (boy was that Kingdom theme getting old). It was one of the shops where none of the keys had worked on the door, but Daryl had clearly busted into it today. The glass was shattered on the door in an ideal spot to reach through and turn the deadbolt.

The place sold pajamas, decorative pillows, blankets, sheet sets, sleeping bags, sleeping masks, and more - all with various Kingdom-related images on them. Carol wondered who bought this sort of crap at such marked-up prices. They had bought nothing while they were in the park, though Carol had pleaded quietly with Ed to let Sophia have just one small souvenir.

"This is where we're training?" she asked from where they stood outside the door.

"You're gonna go through this shop like you're clearin' it with nothin' but a knife." He yanked his knife straight from his sheath before she even knew he'd reached for it. "Now pull yours."

She tried to imitate him by jerking it up, but the knife caught in the sheath halfway. She had to push with her thumb on the sheath to hold it steady while she pulled it out the rest of the way. She flushed with embarrassment, expecting him to roll his eyes or sigh at her.

But he just sheathed his own knife and said, "Show ya how to avoid that later. For now, hand your knife to me."

She handed it over, and he turned it sideways. He pointed to the metal piece at the end of the knife's handle. "That's called a pommel. It's good for hammerin' if you ever need it for that. Can crack nuts with it. And this part…" he ran his finger down the wooden handle from the pommel and rested it on a horizontal metal piece between the blade and the handle, "that's the guard. That's to protect your hands from the knife edge. So keep 'em above the guard. This whole thing, pommel, guard, and handle – that's called the hilt. This here's the thumb rise." He turned the knife and put his thumb on a raised part of the handle near the blade. "You can rest your thumb here, like so, if you're cutting into something." He made a cutting motion.

He turned the knife sideways again. "These little ridges on the thumb rise, they're called the jimping."

"Jimping?"

"Jimping," he repeated. "Some people call it jibbing."

"What's it do?" Carol asked.

"Sposed to keep your finger from slippin' when you're doin' fine work." He touched his finger very lightly against its sharpened tip of the blade. "That's the tip, obviously, of the blade. He moved a hovering finger over part of the top of the blade. "That's the swedge."

"Swedge?" Carol asked.

"Swedge," he confirmed. "It's a false edge. It's not fully sharpened. It reduces the point thickness."

"I have no idea what that means."

"It makes it easier to pierce things."

"Well, that sounds important," Carol said with a smile. "For a knife."

He pointed to the upward, curved section of the blade. "This is the belly, or the sweep. This is the primary bevel," he continued, pointing to different parts of the blade as he spoke. "This is the secondary bevel. And this unsharpened bit here, that's the ricasso."

"Is the test going to be multiple choice?" Carol quipped. "On all these terms?"

Daryl glowered and lowered the knife. "You want me to teach you or not? I ain't doin' this for my health."

"I want you to teach me!" she insisted. "I just, it's a lot of terms. I'm not sure why I need to know them all to kill a walker."

"'Cause when I'm teachin' ya, I'm gonna call shit what it's called. And I don't want to have to stop and explain what I'm talking 'bout every damn time."

"Okay," she assured him. "I'm sorry. I'm paying attention."

"Are you?" he asked. "What's this then?" He pointed to the metal piece at the end of the handle.

"That's the pummel."

"Pommel."

"Pommel," she repeated.

"Pommel or butt," he muttered.

She chuckled.

"Something funny?" he asked. "You wanna share with the class, Miss Murphy?"

She covered her mouth to stop another chuckle from escaping. Then she lowered her hand. "It just sounded like you were saying pummel her butt. It sounded vaguely sexual."

"Hell is this? Junior high? Stop goofin' off and pay attention!"

"Yes, sir," Carol replied in an exaggeratedly contrite tone.

He glowered at her a moment longer, but then began pointing again. "This is the butt of the knife. Or the pommel. Can call it either one. This is the spine." He continued to move his pointer finger as he spoke. "This is the grind line. This is the secondary bevel. Guess I said that already. You can also call that a grind."

"What's the difference between the primary and secondary bevel?" Carol asked.

"The secondary bevel alters the primary bevel to a new angle. Not every knife has a primary and a secondary bevel. Picked this one in part because it does."

"So, it wasn't just the jasmine carving?" she asked.

"Well…" He shrugged. "Thought you'd like that."

"I did. I liked the story, too."

"Knives with two bevels," he continued, "like this one, means the edge is stronger. There's more steel to support the edge. Now this," he pointed again, "where the fixed blade goes into the handle is called the tang. This knife's full tang."

"Full tang?"

"Full tang," he repeated.

"Full tang?" she asked again.

"Full tang," he repeatedly testily. "Full tang!"

"Full tang, yeah I heard you, but what does full tang mean?"

"Oh. Means the blade runs all the way through the handle. Inside."

"And that matters because…"

"Makes it stronger. Resists bending. Makes it more useful on harder materials."

"Like on a walker?" she asked.

"Well, walkers are pretty damn soft. I meant more like a man. If you ever needed to stab a man. Which, let's hope, you don't."

"Just don't steal food off my plate and I think we'll be fine," Carol joked.

"This is the cheek," Daryl continued, looking annoyed at the interruption. "Or you can call it the face. This is the heel. This is the plunge line. And this is the choil. That tells you where to stop sharpening the blade so you don't fuck up the handle."

She looked at him with a repressed smile and innocently blinked her eyes. "And is that its butthole?" She pointed to a small hole in the butt of the knife.

Daryl lowered the knife and glowered.

She chuckled. "You are so humorless sometimes."

"'Cause ya ain't payin' no damn attention at all!"

"My teachers used to say that in school until they realized I could answer all their questions." She reached out and touched his hand so she could raise it up with the knife in it. Then she began pointing to the parts of the knife. "That's the swedge, and that's the primary bevel, and that's the secondary bevel, which alters the angle of the primary bevel for better piercing. That's the thumb rise with the jimping. Tip, plunge line, ricasso, heel, choil, tang." She pointed at each. "Full tang, because it makes the blade stronger. That whole thing's the hilt, with the handle and the guard and the pommel."

Daryl's eyes widened slightly. "Damn," he said.

"I told you I was paying attention." She crossed her arms over her chest. "So, what's the hole in the butt?"

"That's the lanyard hole. Can put a leather string or whatever through it and wear it around your neck if you want. Or dangle it from your belt loop. But it's got a good sheath, so you don't need that. Less you want to conceal it under your shirt at some point or something. Now put it back, and I'll show you how to draw it right so it don't get stuck in the sheath."

When she returned the knife to the sheath, he stood behind her, his mouth close to her ear. The fingertips of his left hand alighted on her left hip, as if steadying her in place. Then he took her right hand in his own larger, calloused one. One by one he positioned her fingers over the handle of the knife and squeezed them in place where he wanted them. He didn't let go. "Got it?" His voice was low and raspy in her ear. "Feel that?" Oh, she felt it all right, the utter nearness of him, the tremor of his deep voice in her ear, the feathery lightness of his fingertips on her hip, the strength of his hand over hers. "Does it feel right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Feels good?"

"Uh-huh. Feels good."

"Good. Now when you pull, pull with your grip like that. Pull straight up. Hard. Smooth." He released her hand and stepped back.

Carol held her breath and pulled. This time, the knife came out easily from its sheath.

"Good," he said from behind her. "Now when you get it up like that, you're gonna turn the blade forward, then straight into their forehead."

"Like this?" she asked and thrust.

"Sort of. More like…" He came beside her and showed her how to draw and thrust with his own knife.

Carol imitated him.

He told her to put the knife back, got behind her again, and rested a hand on her hip. He put his other hand over hers and guided her through the moves again, from drawing to positioning to thrusting. Then he stepped aside and had her repeat them several times, aiming at different levels with her thrusts.

"Now they got soft skulls," he warned. "So it's gonna feel weird. Squishy. Not like driving through a human skull."

"I hope you don't know what it feels like to drive through a human skull," she said.

"Nah. But I can guess. With walkers, your knife won't get stuck in the bone so hard you can't pull it out. It's…I don't know. Like stabbing a Jello mold almost. It'll stick there, but you can pull it right back out easily most of the time. Now show me again. Smooth, hard pull from the sheath and then thrust."

Carol drew from the sheath again and went through the motions.

"Better," he said. "You got the angle right, but you're still too timid. Got to thrust like ya mean it. Thrust good and hard."

Carol couldn't help it. She tried so hard not to, but she giggled.

He sighed.

"Sorry. That just sounded vaguely sexual."

"Every damn thing sounds vaguely sexual to you!"

"Not everything. Just good hard thrusts and butt pommels."

"Well, there ain't nothin' sexual 'bout slayin' a damn walker. Ya better be serious or yer gonna be dead!"

Carol nodded seriously and pressed her lips very tightly into a stern a line, willing them not to curve into a smile, but a laugh burst through her lips like a fart.

Daryl frowned at her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm taking this seriously. I really am. Talk me through it."

He growled like a ruffled puppy. "Pay attention. We're gonna clear the shop now."

Daryl talked her through the steps – how to open the doors, where to look, what to listen for. He made her burst in through the front door and scan in every direction. When they reached a shelf that had pillows on it, he made her practice stabbing on a throw pillow.

Carol got an unexpected thrill out of ripping the fabric open after the initial plunge. She tore her knife down in a jagged line through the entire frilly pillow.

"Stop that!" Daryl barked. "Once ya've stabbed 'em, just twist yer way in and out the brain right quick. No need to drag it ou like that."

"Sorry," she muttered.

He held up another pillow at about the level of a stooped over, five-foot-ten walker, but away from his own body. "Have at it."

Feeling more confident now that she at least knew how to hold and angle the knife, she lunged forward at the pillow. At the last second, though, he yanked it aside, so that the blade of her knife almost grazed his wrist. He dropped the pillow, seized her free wrist, jerked her toward himself, and bent his head. The light nibble of his teeth against her neck made her yelp. It didn't hurt. He barely grazed her skin. It was the sheer unexpectedness of the action that made her cry out.

He lifted his head until his lips were an inch from her ear. "You're dead," he whispered. She could smell his breath - a strange but not unpleasant potpourri of smoke and mint - and feel its warmth on her cheek. He stepped back and released her wrist. "Don't forget they can move."

She rubbed her neck in the spot where his teeth had grazed her. If he had been any other man, she would have been certain he was coming onto her with that intimate nip. But he wasn't any other man. "They don't move that fast," she insisted.

He went over and plucked up another pillow. "Do it again."

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea. If you move again, I might end up stabbing you."

"Doubt that. Now a - " Her knife was in the pillow before he finished his word. He pulled it slowly off the blade, and a single feather drifted out of the tear and landed on the floor by her feet. "Not bad, but ya ain't gonna be able to distract the walkers by runnin' yer mouth."

"I can find other ways to distract them though. The same way you'd distract a dog - throw a small object or create a sound in another direction."

"Yeah. True enough. Now let's go clear the storage closet."

"The storage closet?" she asked. That seemed odd. "Okay."

When they got to the storage closet, Carol could hear clawing on the inside of the door. Her face paled. "That sounds like…"

"A walker? Yeah. 'Cause it is one. And now you're gonna stab it."

She shook her head. It was one thing shooting one in the passion of the moment, to save Lori – it was quite another stabbing one for the first time, knowing it was coming.

"Hey," he said, drawing her eyes to his. "You can do this."

Carol swallowed and turned her eyes back to the scratching. "How did it get in there?"

"Checked the security logs like you suggested. Three guards were on duty the last day any entry was made. Went out lookin' 'til I finally found the third one. Put 'em in this closet."

"How did you do that without getting bit?"

"Just made him chase me. Propped the front door of the store open so he could run in after me. Propped this closet door open, too. Then I dodged him when he got over here and kicked his ass in and shut the door."

"That sounds reckless! What if you'd been bit!"

"I wasn't bit. Ain't that hard to outrun and outsmart a single walker. Now you gonna do this thing or not?"

Carol looked straight at the door. I'm strong, she thought. I'm not just a little sprig anymore. She nodded. "Okay." She drew her knife. She glanced down and his waist and saw that he hadn't drawn his. He was going to make her do this herself.

"A'right now," Daryl said softly. "I'll throw open the door. And you'll stab it."

Carol swallowed hard. She raised her knife and nodded.

"Count of three," he told her as he put his hand on the knob. "Three…"

Carol was holding her breath.

"Two…"

She didn't mean to, but she was.

"One!"

When Daryl flung open the door, the walker hissed and lunged for her. She let out a scream without realizing she was doing so, but she drove her knife forward. The same moment she did, she heard the rasp of Daryl's knife and saw a flash of glinting light. As she thrust her knife into the creature's forehead, he thrust his into the side of its head, and their blades clashed inside its skull.

Daryl ripped his blade back out the second it hit hers. "Twist up!" he commanded, and she turned the blade of her knife quickly upward.

The walker slumped down, its rotting head parting like deli meat on a slicer, and her knife came, blade-up, out of the top of its skull while the creature fell at her feet.

Carol breathed heavily as she stepped back and looked down at the dead walker. She reached out and put one hand against the wall to steady herself.

"Good job," he said. "You got it."

"Why did you stab at the same time?"

"In case you didn't. Wasn't no time for me to wait and see. Would have been too late."

"You didn't tell me you were going to do that!"

"No insult intended. Believed you were capable. It's just if you hadn't gotten it with that first thrust? You'd be bit."

"Why didn't you just tell me you were going to do that?" she cried.

"'Cause if you knew you could rely on me to kill it, then you probably wouldn't have tried to do what you did."

She shook her head and stumbled back a bit.

He walked over and put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. "Hey, ya done good. You did it. You killed that fucker. That was all you. Even if I hadn't thrust, it would still be dead."

"How do I know it would still be dead if you hadn't stabbed it, too?"

"'Cause we stabbed at the same time. And you stabbed in the right place." He squeezed her shoulder. "You good?"

She breathed in through her nose and exhaled deeply. She nodded. "Gotta be."

He patted her shoulder. "Good. Now, c'mon!" he hollered, walking past her and throwing up an arm in a follow-me gesture. "Let's go get you a beer, Miss Murphy!"