Note: A significant amount of time has passed between chapter 1 and this chapter, but the events of "30 Days Without an Accident" (season 4's premiere) have still not come to pass. It's the time of the Easter cold-snap that always comes in the South, the last cold before summer really kicks in (because spring really only lasts about a week or two in the South).

The rays of the sun glimmered down through the budding green leaves and the evergreen needles of the forest's canopy, splashing the ground with vibrant yellow light. A gentle breeze carried with it the scent of rain and a biting chill. Hosea gathered the reins in one hand and adjusted the heavy collar of his canvas jacket with the other, shielding himself from the Northwest wind. The leather ranch saddle beneath him squeaked as he shifted his weight to battle the discomfort he felt in his inner thighs. He was still a long way from his destination; while he was determined to reach it, he knew he would have to start looking for a defensible place to make camp before nightfall.

He had been on his own for months, his only companions the two horses with whom he had survived since the Fall. Eli, a sorrel tabiano, had been his working steed in the world before. He was a stocky, well-bred animal with an active mind. The medicine hat marking extended from his small, alert ears to the curve of his broad jaw, and from the sides of his large pink nose to the middle of his forehead stretched a white blaze. His wide shoulders were covered by a large red spot that reached to the middle of his cannons on both of his sides. On his left hip, he bore a white HR brand a round marking that did not quite paint the hinder part of his leg.

The other equid was Inky, a tall quarter horse, nearly 16 hands in height, with only a crooked white stripe, snip, and sock on his right foreleg to disrupt the blackness of his coat. He was much more gentle in nature, having the advantage of additional years to sooth his nervous instincts. Carrying the heavy bags Hosea placed across his back with little fuss and a low head, he sidled behind Eli in tandem.

The paint ceased from his sprightly gait abruptly and, raising his head high, fixed his gaze on the man in the path before them, causing Hosea to lurch forward, off balance. The man wore a black leather vest and held a camouflage crossbow in his hands. Four bolts with green and white fletchings lined the quiver. The fifth was locked into place along the length of the bow, ready to fire. He had seen Hosea first and stood there, one booted foot slightly ahead of the other, with the weapon held low, his lips slightly parted. He rocked back and forth, shifting his weight from one leg to the other a moment before speaking.

"Who're you?" he asked. His voice was gruff and deep, but not uncivil. Hosea scrutinized his appearance. He had a rugged look; the patchy goatee and long hair he sported suggested that he was not one to worry with such trifles as pulchritude. But he was mostly clean, far too clean to be living on the road.

"I'm Hosea," he answered hesitantly. He inched his fingertips towards the polished wooden grip of the .44 holstered beneath the horn bag just in front of his right knee. "What do you want?"

"You by yourself out here?" the man inquired, ignoring Hosea's question.

"No. I have these two horses with me."

The man in the vest looked at the leaf-covered ground and nodded, biting the skin inside his lip. "Yep," he said, "and I bet they're glad they got a smartass along for the ride."

Hosea's eyes squinted into a stern gaze. "Watch your mouth, please. I loath profanity."

The man shifted his weight again to his far leg as he pored over the horses and the rider. There was a long pause before Hosea began again. "Do you have a camp nearby?"

The man looked down, thinking before he spoke up. "How many walkers have you killed?" he asked, ignoring another question. Hosea's irritation and anxiety intensified; it made him uncomfortable to be asked questions when he received no answers to his own.

"I don't keep a tally."

"How many people have you killed?"

Irritation was remodeled into confusion, but the anxiety remained, heightening again. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Just answer the question."

"Thirteen."

"Why?"

Eli shuffled his feet, but Hosea held him in place by adjusting the position of the reins on the horse's neck. Eager to be on the move again, he bent his head down, his neck a muscled arch, and pawed at the ground. Hosea stared into the blue eyes of the man before him, unblinking.

"They deserved what they got," he responded confidently.

The man in the vest shook his head, as if it was not quite the answer he was expecting or maybe just not the inflection. "What's 'at supposed to mean?"

"No man should have to watch his daughters be tortured before his eyes. They deserved what they got," he reaffirmed as his grip tightened around the pistol. It flashed like lightening and the smell of gunpowder burst into the air as the bullet ripped from its chamber.