"Whoa!" John Markwood pulls the horse-drawn cart to a stop five miles outside the gates of the Hilltop. Beside him, his son Jacob, a scrawny, twenty year old with flaxen hair and blue-green eyes, adjusts his quiver, which was jarred when they stopped.

Daryl, Henry, and Cyndie hop off the back of the cart and gather their packs and weapons. Jacob turns and waves to Henry. "Good luck. Hope it turns out to be good hunting grounds."

"Thanks. And when you get back to our room tonight, would you mind cleaning up your shit?"

Jacob salutes him and grins as the cart takes off and the two hunters head back toward the Hilltop to the old hunting grounds.

Daryl's team, however, will be charting new ones, and they slip into the forest on foot. They spend most of the morning hiking and mapping the woods, and eventually they find themselves following a windy creek.

Daryl leaves the walker slaying to Henry, because Cyndie is drawing the map and he's busy looking for signs of animal habitat and nesting grounds. Winter is coming on, and game is going to grow scarce. The barren trees will make it easier for the deer to spot hunters and flee, and they won't have as much venison as they usually do. On the farming end, the goats will be rested and stop giving milk for two months, and the chickens will lay fewer eggs. He needs to think about fox, crow, grouse, and coyote for the winter, which aren't exactly the most popular items on the menu at Hilltop.

Cyndie looks down in the creek as they walk along the leaf-covered bank, where twigs crack beneath their feet and small stones crunch into the mud. "Guppies, mostly," she says. "That's not much for fishing, but if this leads to a lake…"

"We'll see," Daryl mutters.

"The fish are already starting to descend because of the cold," Cyndie tells him. "We won't be able to catch any past November, but this will be good to map for spring." She draws a line in her sketch book.

"Did you always fish?" Henry asks. "Before all this?"

She starts to reply, but a walker stumbles out between some trees in the woods that lines the creek, and Henry lunges in front of her to whack its head with staff. Some of the brains scatter onto the yellow-white paper and coat it in reddish-black.

"Sorry," Henry says. "Didn't mean to ruin your map."

Cyndie sighs. "That's okay. The scale was a bit off. I was going to redraw it anyway." She turns the page and begins sketching again as she walks around the fallen walker. "I grew up in Ocean City, Maryland," she answers. "We had a cabin on the beach. So…yeah. I've fished ever since I was kid, but in ocean more often than lakes. What about you? Did you always hunt?"

"Well, I was nine when the world collapsed."

"Oh, yeah, I forget how young you are. I was eighteen."

"Beaver damn," Daryl mutters as he leaps down into the creek bed to take a closer look.

Cyndie pauses to note it on her map. "I was in my first year of college at the University of Maryland when it happened," she tells Henry as she sketches. "I thought I was going to go into marketing."

Henry smiles. "Well, I was learning my times tables. And playing little league baseball."

"Did you dream of being a professional baseball player?"

"Football, actually. My big brother was quarterback on the high school football team. I always looked up to him, you know." He swallows and grimaces. "The Saviors killed him."

"My brother, too," Cyndie says softly. "He was younger than me."

Daryl locates the beaver den, but when he sees the babies, he leaves it alone. Scrambling back up to the bank, he says. "Star that on the map. Get 'em next fall when they's grown."

"I'm totally going to make a beaver skin cap," Henry says. "Davy Crockett style."

Cyndie shoots him a puzzled glance. "You know how to make clothes?"

"Out of animals?" Henry asks. "Sure. Daryl taught me to skin and tan hides. Carol taught me to sew."

"Y'all," Daryl mutters, "this ain't social hour. Watch for signs."

Henry and Cyndie fall silent as they follow the creek all the way to its lake source. After she evaluates the lake, Cyndie says, "It'll give us largemouth bass, striped bass, and crappie."

"Crappy?" Henry asks. "That doesn't sound too appetizing."

Cyndie smiles indulgently. She sheds the fishing gear she's been lugging on her back. "I'm going to drop a line for a while."

"Seen bear tracks," Daryl says. "Gettin' ready to make dens soon. Gonna check it out." He jerks his head toward the woods and orders, "Henry."

"Well, actually, I thought I might drop a line for a bit, too, you know, since Cyndie brought an extra pole."

"Suit yerself." Daryl's actually glad Henry turned him down, because now he can get some solitude. He buries himself in the forest as leaves drift slowly from the trees and Henry and Cyndie's murmuring voices fade behind him.

[*]

Tara closes the Council Meeting Minutes notebook and Aaron issues the official dismissal, but he lingers in the Council Chambers after the rest disperse. Carol settles behind the great oak mayor's desk and looks at the inventory report prepared by the Director of Supply Acquisition and asks, "Did you have something you wanted to talk about privately?"

Aaron is pretending to look at the books in the bookcase to her left. He turns from them and slips into the desk chair across from her. "I'm thinking of running," he says.

Carol looks up from the inventory. "For this coming term?" She really thought he wouldn't, not while she still had one term available to serve.

He nods.

"You don't think I'm doing a good job?"

"I think you're doing an excellent job. But I think you need a break." He tents his fingers on the desk. "From this particular position. I'm sure you'll stay in the government."

Carol leans forward on her desk. "What's this really about?"

Aaron runs a hand over his beard and sighs. "I don't think they're going to elect a woman again. Not this time around. And I don't want Roderick to win against you. He's not ready. I am."

"Why wouldn't they - "

"- It was Maggie for three years before she became the official mayor, then another almost two as mayor, with you finishing out her term. Then you'll have served two years when this term is up. A woman has led this town for seven years. A woman is the Director of Defense, which we all know is the most important position after Mayor."

"After Chairman of the Council," Carol corrects him.

"Fine. It's the most important position in the cabinet. A woman is Director of Education. A woman is Director of Water and Energy."

"And a man is Director of Farming. And a man is Director of Forestry. And a man is Director of Interior…I could go on. Three of the five members of the Council are men. It's not as if men are underrepresented."

"Carol, I'm just telling you what I hear. You can ask Daryl if you don't believe me. I'm sure he's heard it, too. I'm asking you to consider not running against me. Let me win this term. You can put your name in for a director's position. You'd make a great Director of Supply Acquisition. Tom's been kind of…" He gestures to the inventory book she has on her desk, "Undisciplined in that role. He's a great supply runner, but he's not exactly organized."

"I don't want to be Director of Supply Acquisition."

"Then run for Council. I'm sure you'll end up Chairman."

Carol leans back in her chair. "You really think Roderick will beat me?"

"I think any man would beat you. Not because he'd be better, but because the town wants more gender balance. If you run against me this term, we'll divide the vote and Roderick will most certainly win. If just I run against Roderick, I'm certain I'll beat him. I serve two terms, four years, and then you run again for your last term. Maybe they'll be ready for a woman again in four years."

"I'll be sixty in four years." Carol doesn't like to think about that. In her fifties, she still feels young, virile. Daryl helps her feel that way. But sixty just sounds old to her.

"And still going strong," Aaron says. "Just think about it. Please."

[*]

Carol gives Herhsey a hug and a kiss and prays with him by his bedside while Daryl sits on the edge of the bed looking for the place where they left off in Huckleberry Finn. He finds the start of the last chapter just as they say "Amen."

"Goodnight," Carol tells the boy and kisses the top of his head.

"Nite, auntie. I love you."

"I love you, too, little man." Carol smiles and trails a hand over Daryl's shoulder as she leaves the room.

Merle pads in across the wooden logs of the floor, leaps up into the bed, and curls up against Hershey's side. The boy scratches the dog's head as Daryl reads the last chapter of Huckleberry Finn.

Hershey is alert and interested, but Merle is half asleep when Daryl reaches the last line: "But I reckon I got to light out for the Territory ahead of the rest," Daryl murmurs, "because Aunt Sally, she's gonna adopt me and sivilize me and I can't stand it. I been there before."

Daryl snaps the book close. Merle jerks his head up, narrows his eyes, but doesn't growl when he sees the source of the sound is Daryl. He snuggles back down against Hershey again.

"Auntie Carol adopted me a civilized me."

Daryl chuckles. "Yeah, kid. You and me both."

"Do you ever want to run away like Huck? So you don't have to deal with all the stupid rules?"

"Sometimes," Daryl admits. "But never for long. Always wanna come back here to y'all." Daryl ruffles his hair.

"Can Merle sleep with me tonight?" Hershey asks.

"Sure."

Daryl leans over, kisses the top of his head, and says, "'Nite." He checks the fire on his way out and makes sure it's burning low and safe but warm. He turns off the kerosene lamp on Hershey's bedside and sees the boy is already slipping into sleep. He closes the door gently behind himself.

When he comes out into the living room, Carol is just sitting on the couch staring into the fire. She blinks and turns her face toward him when he emerges. "Can we talk about something?"

Daryl's heart drops like a ball to the pit of his stomach. "What I do wrong?"

She laughs. "Nothing. It's not about us."

"Oh." Relieved, he slumps down next to her on the couch and rests a hand on her knee. "What then?"

"What did you think you'd done?"

"Dunno. Thought maybe ya saw Samantha flirtin' with me down at the butcher's table."

She raises an eyebrow. "And did you flirt back?"

"'Course not. Wouldn't know how."

"So why did you think I'd be upset about that?" she asks.

"Hell if I know why women get ticked off 'bout the things they do. Then I thought maybe you were pissed off at me for bringing Henry that comic book with all the neked chicks in it."

"Well I didn't know you brought him that comic book until just now. I assumed he picked it up himself somewhere."

"Ain't like I brought him a Hustler! 'N I didn't read the damn thing. Just saw it was a comic."

"Aaron wants me to step down. Not to run for mayor."

Daryl rips his hand off her knee and sits straight. "Hell for!"

"He doesn't think the town will elect a woman again, and he doesn't want Roderick to win."

"Oh."

Daryl's quiet oh tells her all she needs to know. "You think that's true?"

"Nah! Yer gonna kick ass if you run."

"Daryl, I'm not asking for the supportive husband routine here. I'm asking for the truth."

He sighs. "Some of the men…been callin' this place chick town."

"Chick town?"

He shrugs.

She sighs. "I guess I could use a break. Hershey's going to grow up fast. God knows Henry did. I should spend more time with him while he's still young."

"That what ya want?"

"I'm not stepping out of government completely."

"Runnin' for Council then?"

She nods. "And if I don't win a spot on the Council, I'll put my name in for a Director position. Defense probably."

"'N go head to head with Rosita?"

"She could use a break. She's got a fourteen month old."

"Sure it's what ya want?"

"It's not exactly what I want," she admits, "but I don't want to fight a losing battle either. And Aaron will make a great mayor."

"Aaron's gonna try n' make me turn in reports 'n shit."

"Try being the operative word there." Carol smiles. "Thanks for helping me talk through it."

"I did good?"

"You did good. You used your words very well." She gently traces a scar on his cheek, one he got in the War with the Whisperers, and kisses him softly. "Would you do me a favor, Pookie?"

"Need me to rub yer tits for ya?"

Carol replies with a cool expression, and Daryl chortles.

"Can rub yer ass if ya prefer," he says.

"You're like a schoolboy sometimes. I need you to clean my handgun for me. I don't have time tonight if I'm going to get through the proposed rations and sign off on them."

"A'ight. I'll ram my rod down yer barrel for ya, if that's what ya want."

Carol tries to shoot him an annoyed look, but she ends up laughing. She shakes her head as she stands. "It's on the nightstand in the bedroom," she tells him before settling into the chair at her rolltop desk.