I never thought I'd love the smell of coconuts so much.

My fingers keep running themselves through my damp hair, bringing it up to my nose and inhaling deeply. God, it's been so long since I've showered. I've had to wash myself using water from a bucket, but showers have been foreign since the clocks stopped working and people turned into cannibals.

Beth had looked surprised when I'd come out of the bathroom, thus proving my theory on how dirty I actually was. I'd tenaciously avoided the mirror, not yet ready to see what this world had done to me, so her reaction was the only clue I had to how disgusting I had been.

I left quickly afterwards, filthy clothes in hand, and made the long trek back to the camp in search for Lori. Beth scared me. It wasn't her exactly, but what she'd gone through. I could relate to her and I knew that if I stayed there and talked to her more, my sloppily constructed wall would crumble and I would fall apart right there. That's what a thirteen year old girl would do. But I no longer felt thirteen. There was no way I was only thirteen.

I'd barely passed the first tree when my path was blocked. An Asian man stood in front of me, black hair almost completely concealed by a navy blue and white baseball cap. His dark eyes darted around frantically, looking at everything but me. "Hi." He greets. His voice is shy, nervous.

I tilt my head, biting my lip to keep back a smile. The basket in his hands is being shaken by how much he's moving his fingers against the handles. He shuffles his weight from leg to leg as he waits for my response. "Hi." I reply simply.

"I'm Glenn." His smile is timid. The basket is held out to me. "Peach?"

I reach out immediately after the word peach leaves his mouth and grab one. "Thank you. I'm Nevaeh, but I'm pretty sure you knew that already."

"Yeah. Rick and Lori filled us in. And Carl's been telling everyone he sees about you so...yeah. I knew."

"Do you have a problem with it? Me being here?" After Shane, I knew not everyone was as ecstatic about my arrival as Carl was.

He's quick to shake his head, eyes suddenly wide. "No! The more people we have, the easier it is to survive." He takes a few breaths, casts his eyes down. "I just...don't like losing people."

I ignore the tug in my gut at his words. "I get it." I find myself saying. "But I'm very set on not dying, so don't worry about me. I can handle myself." I hope the lack of confidence I feel inside doesn't reflect itself in my words.

Glenn looks impressed, his gaze moving to the sword swung over my shoulder. A small smirk worms its way onto his lips. "I don't doubt that."

I think he's the first person who hasn't seen me and automatically thought, Little girl! She doesn't understand this world, she can't protect herself!, and that - along with his amusing nerves - makes me decide that I like him.

"Um, have you seen Lori?" I scan the camp for her, spotting faces I don't know the names of. I'm struck with a sudden feeling of anxiety. All of these people, all of these opinions of me, all of these bodies primed for the walkers.

Blood. So much blood.

Glenn distracts me from the heaviness of my breaths, resuming his jittering. He's not meeting my eyes, but his are blown wide. "Why-Why do you need to know where Lori is?"

"Because she told me to come find her."

"Oh." He shakes his head and whispers something to himself that obviously wasn't very nice. "Right. Yeah, of course."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." Glenn blurts quickly. "I'm fine. I, uh, think I saw her by one of the tables in front of the RV."

"Okay." I respond hesitantly, eyeing the dirtied converse on his feet digging harshly into the dead leaves and dirt under us. "Thank you, Glenn."

"Anytime." He responds weakly.

It's easy to find the RV seeing as it's huge. Rick, Shane and Lori are all gathered in front of one of the benches along with an old-looking man in a beige fishing hat and one of those button up decorated shirts that my fifth grade teacher used to wear everyday. Carl sits to the left of them, hunched down so low that I wouldn't have been able to see him without his hat.

I make my way over to him quietly. The conversation they're having seems important and the last thing I want is to draw attention to myself by interrupting it. I slide in next to Carl and he starts, whipping his head up to me so fast I'm surprised his hat doesn't fall off. I notice how his eyes slide down the trail of my damp hair before they meet mine. I still can't get over how blue they are.

I'm about to ask what the adults are talking about when Shane's voice carries over to us, "He wants to learn how to shoot. He asked me to teach him. Now, it's none of my business but I'm happy to do it. It's your call."

I barely hear Lori breath out, "I'm not comfortable with it."

Carl and I are still having an unintentional staring contest as I listen into what they're saying. I narrow my eyes slightly at Lori's words, whispering to him, "How are you supposed to protect yourself?"

That glare that reminds me so much of a bunny returns. "Pocket knife." He grumbles.

A pocket knife? Seriously?!

They can not expect him to survive with just that. What if he's alone in the middle a herd? Is he just supposed to survive with a wimpy knife?

I'm the first to break from our stare, instead finding distraction in the leaves of the trees. I cross my arms and lean back against the splintering wood of the table. "Well, that's stupid."

Carl copies my pose, letting out a long sigh. "I know. I just want to help find Sophia and they won't let me."

"Using the 'You can't do that you're just a kid!' excuse?"

"Yep." He's silent for a beat before he hits his thigh lightly with his fist. "It's so annoying! I'm not a kid anymore!"

But he is. I am, too. That's what we are on the outside, but on the inside, we've aged a hundred years.

"Then prove that to them. You act like a kid, they treat you like a kid. You act like an adult, it may take a while, but they treat you like one. Eventually." I think back to those days on the road in the beginning. I screamed and ran away every chance I got. I acted like a kid, so that's exactly how I was treated. But, here, I walk into this camp with a bloodied sword on my back and yell at an intimidating man and I'm not as babied as I was before. I'm still handled like I'm fragile, but not like I'd already broken and needed to be glued back together.

"Was that how it was for you?"

I pick at the loose threads along the edge of my jacket, swallowing back the lump that appeared in my throat at the thought of what those words question. "I...didn't get to find out."

I inwardly cringe at the possible questioning I'm about to get when Lori's voice cuts through the bubble of conversation him and I had made around ourselves. "He's not mature enough to handle a gun."

Carl hesitates for a moment, sending a glance to me before determination spreads across his face in a style that reminds me of his father. He stands up and makes his way to the small group, looking awfully short in the crowd. "I'm not gonna play with it Mom. It's not a toy. I'm sorry I disappointed you, but I want to look for Sophia and I want to defend our camp. I can't do that without a gun."

I grin at his words, deciding to abandon my thought of blending in and journeying until I'm two steps behind him. I offer a one shoulder shrug to them. "What's the harm?"

Lori looks taken aback as Rick starts to speak, "Shane's the best instructor I know. I've seen him teach kids younger than Carl."

They hold each other's eyes for a moment, Rick looking hopeful and Lori like this was the hardest thing she'd ever had to agree on. It's like they were hosting their own battle in each other's minds, horses bucking and swords clashing.

Lori loses the war. I hadn't noticed how tense she had become until her stance deflates with the sigh she releases. She takes the steps to Carl, holds his chin in her hand. "You will take this seriously and you will behave responsibly. And if I hear from anyone in this camp that you are not living up to our expectations-"

"He won't let you down." Rick assures with a threatening look directed at Carl.

The boy nods. "Yeah."

Lori catches my eyes and I'm about to walk back to her when Rick calls me over to him.

"You said you didn't know how to shoot."

"Yes. I did. Why?" Even though I know the guy is more teddy bear than murderer by now, he still kind of scares me.

"Shane's agreed to teach you too."

"Shane doesn't like me." I half-whine.

Rick smiles. "Yeah, well he knows how to shoot a gun. That's more important."

I'm slightly annoyed at the fact that he's right.

"Fine. But can you make sure he is nowhere near the back of my head while he is aiming a gun, please?"

He chuckles and I conclude that I will not tell him that I was only half joking.

Rick and Shane station us in front of a fence topped with bottles and cans.

Mason's gun sits in my hands, a cool and heavy change. I keep staring at it as Shane kneels in front of the group of us and gives instructions or warnings or whatever he's saying. I'm too distracted by the weapon I'm holding. All I see when I look at it is Mason, army jacket and lopsided smile.

It's not until I see the splash against the black metal that I realize I'm crying.

I almost drop the gun in my haste to wipe away the tears without anyone noticing. I think I've gotten away with it when Carl nudges my arm with his elbow.

The concern alight in his eyes makes my heart swell and my annoyance wither away. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I say, looking to Shane even though his words aren't registering in my brain. Not even a second passed before I gazed back at the boy beside me. I can't even fool myself. "No."

His eyebrows draw down in worry and his mouth opens to speak when Shane yells, "Carl!"

We both jump and Carl looks disoriented for a second before he nods and steps forward. Shane had went over the parts and guided us on how to load and reload beforehand and Carl was set to be the role model. I didn't even have to ask him to know it made him feel mature.

Shane squats next to him and Rick and Lori crowd around, the latter placing a hand on my shoulder as if she was afraid that he'd somehow shoot me. Tips are whispered into Carl's ear by the man beside him before he walks back to where he was previously.

"Okay," Shane announces, clutching his belt in a way that reminded me of a cowboy. "Carl's gonna show us how."

The shot rings out loud and clear seconds later. He'd missed, but I imagine that he did better than I would have if I was put on the spot like that. "That's good. Very good." Rick praises before moving to walk behind everyone, long rifle in hand. "Alright, three rounds a piece. Everyone stay alert. We're taking a risk with the noise but a necessary one."

"Make these count. Range is hot." Shane adds.

My hands are shaking in a way I hope isn't obvious when I hold up my gun. I close one eye, aiming my sights just like Shane taught me to - in a surprisingly nice way - on a large green tinted glass bottle. Three shots. Wonder if I'll even hit the wooden fence before I have to stop.

The trigger seems like such a simple thing. You only have to push with a single finger to end someone's life. To end the rampage of a walker. Or to end the rampage of yourself.

Just one little push.

The bang is louder when you're the one holding the gun. It pushes back against my arms as the bullet leaves the chamber and my ears ring quietly with the sound it creates. This thing, this small little object can do so much damage. It's powerful, but sloppy. I already know I like my sword better. The silence, the gracefulness required to use it. It's more...beautiful. It may be close range and kind of gross, but it makes living in this world easier somehow.

"Good job!" Carl yells at me over the sound of gunfire.

I send him a confused look and he grins at me, pointing towards the fence. I follow, my eyes landing on the place of the bottle I'd been aiming at. Jagged green pieces sparkle in the sun like diamonds, some sticking out from the grasses and others laying fractured in triangles on the wooden beams.

"Oh my God, I hit it." I breath out. I look over at Carl, clutch his arm. "I hit it!" The surge of pride and joy I feel is unfamiliar and I grab onto it with everything I have.

He beams at me. "I bet I can hit the next one before you!" He does not yet know how competitive I can get. It isn't a good idea to challenge me.

I scoff and flick the rim of his hat with a smile that feels carefree for once. "Bring it on."

And even when he beats me and brags the entire way back to the camp, my mood can't be soured. It's like he's a bright patch in the darkness that's suddenly decided to make a home above my head. He's vivacious, so much so that it's almost annoying but that only makes me enjoy his presence more.

"So, do you know who you're staying with yet?" Carl asks me after we've returned our guns to the police bag. The stress and grief weighing down on my shoulders seemed to lighten just a tad when I put the weapon down. It was weird to me. Mason's jacket was my coping mechanism but his gun made me think of his death all over again.

"What do you mean?"

"In the tents. Who are you staying with?"

I blink. "Oh. No, I don't know yet." I hadn't thought about actually having to sleep. The thought of sleeping with a group again seemed too good to be true.

Carl sits on the rusted swing stationed in front of the RV and I join him without a second thought, placing my sword on the ground before sitting down. I cross my legs and let him swing us, leaning my head back and letting the small breeze whip against my cheeks. The metal lets out slight creaking sounds as we move back and forth but if anything it's soothing.

"Nevaeh?" Carl asks. His voice sounds almost scared.

My eyebrows scrunch at his tone as I hum in reply.

His boots kick off of the dirt once more before he turns to look at me with a curious and sad look on his face. Unease bubbles up in my stomach. Carl opens his mouth, then closes it, confliction cutting across the grey blue of his eyes. "What happened to your family?"

I toss the bright and curly hair flying into my vision back before replying with a simple and short, "They died." It still hurts really bad when I say it.

"How?"

I'd told both Rick and Lori what had happened, but I hadn't gone into actual detail with either of them. I wasn't ready to do that yet. I wouldn't even let myself relive the events voluntarily.

My breath is growing shaky. I break the contact I have with him, looking at the RV. Particularly the red and white striped umbrella shading an empty chair from the sun that is slowly beginning to set. I tap my fingers against my knee, trying to bring myself a distraction from the memories attempting to bombard my mind.

"I-I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." He says quickly, catching me completely off guard. I expected a nudging, maybe even a, 'come on you can tell me', but he moved on easily. I appreciate it more than he knows.

"What's your favorite food?"

I snort. "Does it matter?"

He grins, pushing us for another large swing. "It always matters."

I send him a look that says, 'seriously?, and he just stares back patiently. I sigh. "Peeps. But only the pink ones."

"Only the pink ones." Carl echoes, amused.

"They always taste better than the other ones." I explain. "Don't laugh at me."

He's smiling from ear to ear and looks like he's very close to bursting out laughing, but he shakes his head. "I'm not laughing!"

I huff disbelievingly. "What's your favorite food?"

"Chocolate pudding."

I should've known it would be something like that. "Not a bad choice." I admit. We'd never be able to find either of those things now, but sometimes pretending was the best way to keep yourself going.

"Favorite color?"

I shake my head with a roll of my eyes, plucking at the dirtied shoe lace of my converse. "Carl, why do you care?" He says that these things matter but they really don't. Not anymore. We don't get to turn up our noses and complain about things not being how we wanted them to be because now, the only thing that matters is that you're alive. That you can feel. Even if feeling isn't exactly something you want to do.

Carl shrugs in an almost shy manner, not even fazed by the tone I just used. "You're my friend. Friends know everything about each other."

Friend.

We're friends.

The hostility I have towards him depletes and part of me - the part of me that's still young - peeks her head out of the debris of my life. She's covered in dust and blood and scars, but she's smiling wide with bright, unbroken brown eyes.

"Light blue." I mumble dejectedly. Just like his eyes.

"Mine's blue too!" I can tell he's smiling without looking up. Carl's one of those people whose voices give away everything. He'd be a bad liar. "What's…" He trails off and I peek up at him to see the most adorable expression of concentration on his face.

I bite my lip to keep back a smile.

"What's your favorite memory?"

I don't take time to give him my answer. I'd thought about it too much after my dad died. Even more when I was on my own. "My family went to the beach one summer. My dad had work, said he couldn't make it and my Mom had been planning the trip for so long that we went anyway. She'd decided to sunbathe when we got there, and Mason, my brother, was bored. So he took me to the boardwalk. We bought cotton candy and spent hours just browsing through the knick-knack shops. We even got our faces painted. I got a dolphin and he," I chuckle, surrounded by memories of the past. "He got a panda because it was the face painter's favorite animal and he wanted her number. He was so happy when he got it, too.

"When we went back down to the beach, there was my Dad, in Spongebob Squarepants swim trunks, dumping my Mom into the water. He'd managed to get the day off and drove to meet us. We spent the rest of the day playing tag in the water and eating a lot of candy. My dolphin was completely gone and my eyes burned, but it had been worth it. And that night, the town was having a firework show, so - even though I was eleven - my Dad let me sit on his shoulders while we watched them. They were so beautiful."

I blink once, twice. My eyes snap around to the RV, the rusted flecks of the chair, the yellowed leaves falling from the trees above. My heart plummets. It wasn't real. Of course. This is real. Carl is real. That day was long gone and so were the people there.

I clear my throat both to get the formed lump to disappear and to cut through the somber air I'd created. Strands of hair are tucked behind my ear. It's something I'm told I do when I'm nervous or uncomfortable. "So, yeah. That's my favorite memory."

'We may not be next to you, but we're in your memories and that's what counts.'

It may be what counts but it's also what hurts the most.

"That sounds fun. I love cotton candy." The urge to laugh at his comment is hard to suppress. "Mine is my eleventh birthday party. Mom and Dad took me to the King County Cafe. My Dad always said that my Mom was a bad cook so they had the cooks there make a cake for me. They sang happy birthday and we just...talked. And ate cake."

"Is your Mom a bad cook?"

"Yes. Whenever she tried to make pancakes they were always burnt." He pulls a face of disgust and I snicker.

"I had my eighth birthday at the King County Cafe. Did they take your picture and-"

"Hang it over the counter? Yep." He smiles for a moment before his eyes widen. "Wait, you lived in King County?"

"Well…" I decide not to explain all that I did to Lori. "Yeah."

"Wow. Okay." His mouth scrunches to one side of his face as he thinks. "Then what's-"

I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "It's my turn." I'm tired of talking about myself. It's only making me sadder.

He looks surprised before grinning. "Fine. Your turn."

I bite the inside of my cheek. I hadn't really thought about what I wanted to ask him. I glance around at everything to get an idea, stopping on the object settled on his head. I point at it. "Why the hat?"

His eyes flicker upward and his smile warms. "It used to be my Dad's. We were both shot and when you're shot, you get to wear the hat." I think that Carl Grimes is the only one who can make getting shot sound like you won the freaking Olympics.

"So if I was shot, would you let me wear it?"

"Do you want to?"

I tilt my head and stare at him. "Hmm...maybe?"

"I could let you." Carl's voice is laced with excitement. "Just...don't get shot. It hurts."

I don't know if it's the bluntness of his statement or the obviousness to it but I laugh. It's the first time I've heard myself straight out do so in a while and it feels good to be at least a little happy. "Never would have guessed that." I gasp out sarcastically.

Carl stares.

"What?" I ask.

His lips lift as he shakes his head. "Nothing."

I ponder pressing him but remember how cool he was about me not wanting to talk about my family, so I move on, thinking of another question to ask him. I may have thought it was somewhat of a stupid thing to do seeing as if we were in a life or death situation knowing that I was obsessed with Peeps wouldn't be helpful at all, but it was surprisingly entertaining getting to know Carl. It felt human and I hadn't really had that feeling since I put on a black dress and went to my father's funeral.

I uncross my legs and bring my feet down to assist him in sending us swinging. Someone laughs from behind us and my eyes close for a second to take in the noise. "What's your favorite sound?"

"Sound?"

"Yeah. Mornings are my favorite sound. Where you've just woken up and you don't really know what's going on yet, but you can hear bacon sizzling and coffee brewing and your parents laughing over some old memory over the sound of the radio playing. There's just something about it that's...happy." I ignore the grief trying to bombard me and look to Carl with raised eyebrows. "What about you?"

He smiles but it seems like he's restraining himself from pulling an ear-splitting grin. "I've never thought about it before."

"I like thinking about things like that. Things that are usually overlooked, you know?"

"Yeah." Carl replies and I wonder if he's just agreeing because it's easier to do that than to question how weird I am.

I grin at the effort, nudging his shoulder with mine. "Your turn."

"What do you do for fun?"

"Well, before I had walkers trying to kill me all the time, I liked to draw."

Carl's interest was clearly piqued. "Were you good at it?"

I crinkle my nose. "I guess I was."

"Do you have any of your drawings?"

I look at him like he's crazy. "I have a sketchbook."

His eyes light up. "Can I see it?"

"No."

Carl pouts. "Why not?"

I absentmindedly clutch the strap thrown over my shoulder. "I've never liked people looking at my drawings. That hasn't changed."

The boy beside me crosses his arms and drops his head down sadly. This is the first time I've really seen the emotion on him and already I don't like it. "Hey," I call to get his attention and to get that look off of his face because it's bothering me. "What about you? What do you do for fun?"

That smile I've begun to get used to returns. "Read."

My lips curl. "Read?"

"Comics."

"Oh." Not as bad. I run the toe of my shoe through the dirt below us. I make a heart, scribble over it, create a sad face next. "I've never read one before." I comment offhandedly.

"What?!"

I snort at his reaction, moving my stare from my artwork to his astounded expression. "I don't understand them."

"What?" He repeats, but more calmly.

"You know the speech bubbles?" He nods. "They're all over the place. It confuses me and I usually get so mad that I throw them away."

Carl sends me that bunny glare for half a second. "Wait here." He orders before stopping our light swinging and standing up.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a comic."

"Seriously?"

He rests his hands on his hips and narrows those pretty eyes at me. "I'm going to teach you how to read them and you're going to realize how awesome they are." I listen to his boots crunch against dead leaves as he heads towards a large black tent stationed close to the RV.

And then I laugh.

I like him.

"Hi there!" I jump so hard the chair swings without the guidance of my feet. I look up, breathless, to see the old man with the busy shirt from before we went out for shooting practice. He leans against the metal frame of the swing, elbow holding up his form. A smile, so caring and gentle splits across his aged face and brown eyes that resemble chocolate pools in the sunlight stare down at me. "I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Dale."

He reminded me so much of my grandfather that my heart hurt more than it already did.

I open my mouth to respond when I smell it. Food. Beautiful, delicious, rare, glorious food. My eyes search for the source and land on a blue plate in his hand supporting the most appealing piece of meat I'd seen since all of this started. Grease spilled out from where it sat and until that moment I never thought I'd be so happy to see the substance.

"Um," I intelligently respond, trying to look at his face and away from the appetizing plate in front of me. I don't think I do a good job of it. "Nevaeh."

That smile widens. "Nice to meet you Nevaeh." He bows his head down slightly as he says that and I spot a minuscule streak of white paint darting down the rim of the beige fishing hat on top of his head. I wonder how it got there. "I was just making dinner for the group and thought that you'd be hungry." The delectable meat is pushed towards me.

"That's for me?"

Dale's warm brown eyes twinkle with amusement. "Absolutely."

I take my time in grasping the blue plastic just so he won't think I'm a lunatic. He hands me a fork after I have it in my hands. I totally would have eaten it without one but I decide not to share that detail and grab the utensil anyway. "Thank you."

"It's no problem. How are you liking it here so far?"

I shove a bite of meat in my mouth, forcing myself not to moan at how good it tastes and focus on Dale's question. "Everyone I've met is nice, Carl especially. Shane was a little...harsh and I kind of yelled at him, but I think he just has trust issues. I did just randomly show up and get thrown into the group and I get how that can make someone mad."

Dale pats my shoulder. "Don't worry about it too much. Everyone is fine with you bein' here. Carol's really lookin' forward to talkin' to you."

"Carol?"

He points behind us, further into camp. "That lady right over there." I look over my shoulder to see a woman sitting in one of the dirtied fold up chairs. Her hair is cut short and beginning to grey and she looks into the small fire in front of her blankly as if she's somewhere else, seeing something else. Even from the distance I can see the devastating clear blue of her eyes.

It makes no sense, but I know what she's seeing in the hypnotic movement of the flames. A different time; a time when grocery stores were bright and ringing with the cries of children and laughter and not the haunting moans of the undead. Times when you didn't wake up and wonder if today could be the day you died. When you ate breakfast with a joyful family and had no worries of a stomach so empty you felt as if it were collapsing in on itself.

The old days.

So dearly missed and departed that they're called the old days.

I redirect my gaze back down to the plate in my lap before I burst into tears, nausea creeping up on me like a wave. I place the fork down, gulping and meeting the warm brown that suddenly has me feeling exposed. It feels like Dale can see all that I've been trying to hide and bury under happiness that has just recently started to become true and not faked. Every hurt, every insecurity. "Is she okay?"

He doesn't even seem surprised by my question. "Her daughter went missin' a few days ago. She's...coping."

I immediately want to help in the search for this girl. Sophia, Carl had said her name was. What does she look like? What kind of smile does she have? The kind that is full blown and distracts you from everything because all you can do is stare, or the type that slowly begins with a small lift of one side of the lips but slowly extends to the other one in a way that's always reminded me of a held back river suddenly being set free again? Carl's smile is like that. The corners of his eyes crinkle, too.

"Dale?" I call up at him, my mind buzzing with things to ask to get my thoughts away from giggling with a faceless girl and drawing her face in my sketchbook. "How'd that paint get on your hat?"

Curiosity invades his jolly features as he reaches up and plucks the fishing hat off his head and searches the rim for the streak in question. The sun shines against the revealed grey hairs and something about it almost makes me laugh. "Well will you look at that," He mutters absentmindedly, rubbing a gentle thumb over the splash of color with a nostalgic smile. I start to think he's going to deny me the story behind it when he brings his eyes back to mine.

And I can see every emotion he hides behind that facade of optimism. "My wife had just discovered she was pregnant and we'd moved into a new house to prepare for the baby. We were painting the nursery together, listening to - oh, what was that song?" Dale purses his lips together and looks as if he's berating himself before he snaps his fingers with the hand not holding the hat. "Sweet Life by Paul Davis. That was it." He chuckles but there's a somber air to it. "She got a little haphazard with the brush and by the end of it we were both covered in paint."

I try to imagine a younger Dale, all dark haired and young, chasing after a no doubt beautiful woman with a determined furrow in his brow but playfulness shining in those eyes, the song that I'm dying to hear playing in the background along with their shrieks of laughter.

That little piece of material in his hands must have seen so many stories unfold.

I know she's dead - I can see it in his eyes - but the story still makes me feel giddy. "What was her name?"

"Irma." Dale replies, voice thick with emotion.

I sigh and bite my lip, look down, then back up again. "Before or after?"

He clears his throat and secures the cap back onto his head. "Before. Cancer."

I picture that same beautiful woman in a hospital gown, frail and grey and wearing a pretty scarf around her head, just as busy as Dale's shirts, smiling just as kind as her husband seems to. I see blue eyes, I can't help but see blue eyes.

I don't say sorry. I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it just doesn't feel like enough. Because if I've learned anything, sorry doesn't bring back the dead. It only reminds you that they're gone.

"Thank you for telling me. Trusting me enough to." I settle with.

"I like to think that when this world takes me down, there'll be stories to tell."

I spot Carl's hat beginning to poke out of the entrance of his tent as I smile. "I'd like to hear them sometime."

"I'd be more than happy to share them with you. Just come find me." His eyes are wet with incoming tears but he still beams at me before nodding and walking back to where he came from, most likely to cook more food for the others.

Carl plops down next to me right after and sends the both of us swinging again. "Sorry I took so long."

I shrug in return to his apology. "Carl?"

Pale blue eyes snap up to me.

"What's Sophia like?"

He stills and his eyebrows furrow. We stare at each other for what seems like forever, the amount of sadness in those orbs catching me off guard. It was like a grey cloud suddenly shielding the Sun from you.

"Happy." He finally says. I notice how his fingers tap against his thigh in a rhythm. Maybe that's his nervous habit. "She likes butterflies. We used to play in the woods at our old camp and look for them."

I see that same faceless girl and Carl trying to be quiet as they search around the greenery but laughing their heads off when he trips on a log and falls into a pile of dead leaves. The image almost has me laughing too. "What's her favorite?"

"The Glasswinged Butterfly. She always says that she saw hundreds of them in the forest one time and since then she's been trying to find one again, so I help her."

I don't know butterflies well, so I have no idea what a glasswinged one looks like, but I can assume from the name.

I hesitate before asking the next question. Carl seems upset enough talking about her, but I can't get the thought of drawing a girl caressing a butterfly perched on her finger with spindly legs out of my head. "What does her smile look like?"

That river smile slowly spreads across his face. "Her smile?"

"Yes. Just...explain what it looks like."

"Why?"

"I told you I liked to draw."

Carl tilts his head. "You want to draw her?"

The more time I spend talking to this boy the more I realize how much of a dork he is.

"Of course I do. I draw everyone I meet."

"Does that mean you'll draw me?"

Definitely.

"I don't know."

He playfully pouts and leans back, the comic decorated with men in superhero costumes and the word Invincible spreading across the cover being forgotten for the time being. "It was always shy, like she was scared, but it made you want to smile back. It had a way of making you believe everything was...okay again."

That's the first time I really heard Carl acknowledge how crappy the world had become and it shocked me more than it probably should have.

I wipe a finger under my eyes just in case and look down at my half eaten plate of meat. "We need to find her."

"I tried. They took my gun away. Shane'll kill me if I try that again."

"I can do it." I offer. "No one will even notice I'm gone."

Carl immediately shakes his head. "No."

I frown. "Why?"

"You can't go out there alone." He sits up so suddenly that the swing shakes. "What if you run into a walker and can't kill it?"

"You think I can't kill them?"

"No!" He shouts, sticking his arms out in front of him. "No. That's not it. I just…don't want to lose another friend."

I press my lips together, studying his features. That elation from earlier has disappeared and he shows me the real impact all this has had on him. He's not broken yet, but the misery he hides behind that charming innocence makes me want to hug him so hard he can't breathe.

"Me either. So let's make a promise," I hold my hand out to him, sticking my pinky in the air. "I won't die if you won't die."

Carl glances at it. "Really?"

I nod. "Come on."

"That's for kids."

"Sorry to break it to you, but that's exactly what we are. So, promise me."

He sighs but the corner of his lips are turning up. "Fine." He relents, looping his pinky around mine. "I promise I won't die."

"And I promise I won't either." I grin as we both let go and proceed to grab the colorful comic out of his lap. "Now teach me how the heck I read this thing."

Turns out I'm going to be sharing a tent with Andrea.

After barely understanding Carl's teaching of how to read a comic - something I feel incredibly stupid for - he introduced me to her. She was shattered, too. Despite that though, she was nice, nicer than Shane was when I first arrived. She even taught me how to sharpen and clean my sword.

So I think having her as a roommate won't be unbearable.

"We'll get you a sleeping bag next time we go out for supplies." Andrea tells me as she leaves our tent. "It won't be a problem."

I seize the opportunity. "I can go with you, help out."

The disbelieving look that crosses her features has me gritting my teeth. "I don't think that'd be a good idea." She says it as if she's speaking to a five year old who wants cookies before dinner.

"Why not?"

Andrea looks taken aback at my tone and I find satisfaction in the way she hesitates. "Well, It's not safe for you out there."

I had already expected an answer like that, but it still pissed me off. I take a deep breath in order to stop myself from yelling. "You literally just helped me clean off my sword. I was on my own for four days, something you know already and you think I can't handle myself?! Just because you're older doesn't mean you're more experienced. The world went to shit at the same time for the both of us. We've both been through the same thing, we've both lost people. And if I have to go out into the woods, decapitate a walker, and bring it back to you to prove myself, then I will."

The shock she sends back to me calms me down enough so that I can walk away calmly without punching something. Scratch what I said about it being easy to share a living space with her. If she's going to treat me like I'm a five year old who still believes in unicorns, then we're going to have a problem. I'm a kid and I get that, but it doesn't mean I have to be treated like one.

I return to the swing Carl and I sat on earlier, pulling the peach Glenn gave me out of my bag and taking a big bite. It tastes like heaven compared to the canned ones I've been living off of. I savor the juice that partially hydrates my chapped lips and look out to the fields dowsed in the orange glow of the slowly setting sun.

This is something I wouldn't have cared to see before the turn.

I spent my days at home doing homework, watching Netflix, and drawing faces - people I passed on the street that I thought were beautiful or unique. Sometimes my Dad would even take me to this diner. The type with a faded jukebox in the corner and velvety red booths and checkered floors. It was called Millie's and they had the absolute best milkshakes. He would get chocolate and I would get strawberry and we would sit for hours just talking while I drew people sitting around us.

I haven't had a milkshake since before he died.

I was already struggling after his funeral when the walkers started showing up and I'd never told anybody, but when everything was happening, I thought it made sense. My Dad was dead, it was only logical that the world would end with him. But then I saw all the despair swallowing up all of those faces I once thought were beautiful and carefree when the bombs dropped on Atlanta. It was then that I realized that what was happening - the monsters - wasn't because my Dad died. It was because of something else.

And suddenly I was on the run from that something else and somewhere in that journey I learned that there were still gorgeous things on this Earth. The sun rose every day with a mosaic of colors, beat down on all the things under it, and then set just as beautifully.

The world is still alive.

I forget about it sometimes and start to lose hope, but then like now, I sit down and be.

"Nevaeh." And then it's always ruined. I look around at the sound of my name, only now realizing that I've consumed the peach down to it's pit. I throw it down before continuing my search through the camp.

It's Rick, standing by the yellow car I first met him at. He ushers me over when we make eye contact and the closer I get to him the more I realize how distressed he looks. His blue eyes are red from what I assume are previously shed tears and the curls in his hair look mussed up. The man doesn't give me the intimidating vibe anymore. He looks like a lost puppy that just got ran over and lived to see another day.

"Yeah?" I question when I reach him, my voice unexpectedly soft.

Rick gestures to the map laid out against the hood. Narrow red lines spread across the paper, leading to hopeful circles being denied by fat x's. "I was hopin' you'd show me how you got here so we could narrow down the places Sophia could be."

I nod before he even finishes his sentence, pointing to the place my old camp was and dragging my finger along the map in a straight line, speaking about the houses I'd stayed in. I mention the cot in the cabin I found shelter in my first night and Rick's features take a turn for hopeful as the words leave my mouth.

As he pulls out the red marker and makes new sketches on the map, I press my lips together and contemplate whether or not I should ask him if I could join the search for her. But then I focus on his eyes and notice the far away look in them. His actions are in the present but his mind is elsewhere. I focus on that instead.

"Are you okay?"

Rick blinks, shakes his head. "Sorry?"

"You look terrible, Rick. Are you okay?"

He stares at me and I wonder if he's finally seeing me as someone other than the little girl Carl found in the barn. "Fine. I'm...fine."

The hesitation tells me he's lying, but I'm positive he won't tell a girl who's been here for less than one day what's bothering him, so I settle with an, "Okay." and move on to gesture to the map laid out in front of us. "I want to help look for Sophia."

"No." He doesn't even glance at me.

I sigh with frustration. "I thought you'd understand after what I said to Shane, but clearly Carl is the only one who does. I'm young, I get that. I absolutely get it after being looked at like I'm trying to stab myself with a spoon when I offer to help with something like this. But understand this, Rick: I'm thirteen years old, yes, but...my entire family is dead. I know what walkers can do, I know that you have to be on guard every second you're out here, and most importantly, I know how to protect myself. So trust that I can go out into those woods and find this girl because I can't stand thinking about someone being alone just like I was. Living on the run from the dead like you are may suck, but being alone while doing it is even worse."

Rick's eyes bore into mine and I know he's searching for weakness. I build up the walls I've been perfecting over the past four days and glare back, my hands clutching the inside pockets of my jacket hard. He has to let me do this. I know Carl will either say it's unfair or worry about me - something that makes my heart warm -, but if I don't at least try to look for Sophia, I won't forgive myself.

Rick breaks away, clears his throat. "Tomorrow, noon. Andrea and I were already plannin' on goin' out."

It won't make Andrea happy either but hopefully I'll get a chance to rub it in her face that I can hold myself up and not fall apart like the kid she thinks I am. Walkers make me mad more than they scare me and I thrive on that anger when the time comes.

I bounce on my heels as I smile. "Thanks, Rick." I turn to walk away before he changes his mind, but I can't help but throw over my shoulder, "And if you want people to believe you when you say you're fine, relax your posture and try not to look like you got run over. Your tenseness makes my shoulders hurt."

I see his body loosen from the corner of my eye.