"Mommy, mommy, wake up," Alana's sweet voice woke me from my restless slumber. I rolled over to be greeted by her bright, smiling voice. I smiled and pulled her onto the bunk with me, wrapping my arms around her tiny body.

"Hey sunshine," I smiled, kissing the top of her head.

"Mommy, that man scares me," she whispered, burying her face into my pillow.

"What man?" I asked.

"The one with only one leg," she said, her voice tiny.

"Hershel? Sweetheart, Hershel's a good man," I said softly, running my hand through her hair. "Why are you afraid of him?"

"I'm scared he can hurt us like that man at Woodbur…wood…" her struggled to say the name of the town.

"Woodbury?" I said softly.

"Yeah. The man with only one hand," her voice cracked as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Hershel is nothing like that man," I promised her. "Are you hungry?"

She peeped out from under the pillow, her eyes dancing as she nodded her head.

"Well then, let's go find some breakfast, okay?" I smiled at her as I pulled on my thick military style jacket before pulling her off the bunk. She smiled as I sat her on the ground, Blade pressing his head into her side.

"Blade likes it here," she said brightly as she patted the dog's head.

"He sure does," I agreed.

We walked into the common room, where most of the refugees were already awake and busy with whatever it was they did from day to day. I looked around, taking in the rough looking group.

I walked over to Beth and asked her if she minded watching Alana for a little while. She said she didn't, so I left her and Blade with the blonde. I kissed Alana's head before walking over to where Rick and Daryl were.

"We're planning on clearing out the tombs," Daryl filled me in. "Could really use someone like you down there with us."

"I'm game," I nodded.

"She hasn't been here long enough," Rick grunted. "We can't trust her."

"Rick, with all due respect, what kind of person do you take me as?" I asked, my tone gentle. I knew from the conversation I had had with Beth the night before, that Rick was pretty torn up about losing his wife. "I wouldn't do anything to compromise your group."

"I don't know that," he growled.

"I do," Daryl said, surprising me yet again by taking up my defense. "Rick, she's fast on her feet and good with a bow. She's coming."

"Fine," Rick grunted. He clearly didn't like it one bit. I couldn't really blame him. We lived in a world where you couldn't trust anyone.

"I'll bring Riley along. He's got a nose for biters," I said softly, running my hand down the dog's thin body.

"Biters, huh?" Daryl said. "We call 'em walkers."

"I've called them everything under the sun," I shrugged. "Walkers seems a bit more fitting," I pondered. I shook myself out of my thoughts before grabbing my bow off the table, adjusting the strings.

"What're you doin'?" Daryl asked.

"It's a different setting," I said, not taking my eyes off my work. "Don't want long distance in cramped places."

"How long have you been using that thing?" Rick asked.

"Long enough," I huffed. "This one in particular? 10 years. Bows in general? Since I was 8."

"Really?" Daryl asked, impressed.

"Yeah. My uncle taught me to hunt when I was 5. My first kill was squirrel when I was 6," I laughed. "Thankfully, I moved onto bigger game after that."

"So you've been hunting your whole life?" Rick asked, his tone emotionless.

"More or less. Hunting, fishing, camping, you name it, I've done it," I shrugged. "Trees are my specialty."

"Whatcha mean?" Daryl asked, completely absorbed in my explanation.

"I spent a lot of time out in the woods. Learned to climb trees when I was 7, learned to jump from tree to tree by the time I was 10. I can take down an owl without it even seeing me coming," I shrugged. "It comes with the territory though."

"What territory?" Rick asked, his tone changing. He was suddenly glaring at me like I was a criminal or something. I didn't really want to get into my past with this man, but I felt if I didn't offer some sort of explanation, I would regret it.

"My daddy was a real cruel man. When my mom died when I was 13, he turned violent. So I found comfort and security in the woods," I shrugged. "Was easy to make peace with the man when I was coming home with a deer or a turkey or whatever."

"You grow up around here?" Daryl asked.

"No. I'm from Tifton, my uncle was from Macon though," I shrugged.

"Really? Tifton, eh?" Rick asked, pondering my statement.

"Yes sir," I nodded. I flashed a smile before looking at the rough map of the tombs spread out in front of them.

"There's a breach in your back wall. I could probably come up with a way to keep the bit-walkers out," I said, pointing at the map. "You rig it well enough, they won't be able to come through."

"We tried that already," Rick informed me, his tone bitter.

I nodded and turned my attention to Riley, who was pawing at the ground. He was eager to do something useful. The poor dog had been locked up for too long back in Woodbury. Even with his skills, no one wanted to bring a dog along on some of the runs, especially when my attitude towards my group changed. The men talked some more before formulating a plan.

Before we headed to the tombs, I armed Riley with his suit before clipping a short, leather leash to his collar. Normally, he wouldn't be tied up, but due to the special circumstances, I wasn't going to risk his, or anyone else's safety.

As we started towards the tombs, I noticed that despite Daryl's way of being Rick's right hand man, he seemed to distance himself. He seemed to be preoccupied. I didn't say anything to him about it, just made a mental note to keep an eye on the reclusive redneck.

Clearing the tombs hadn't been too difficult. The hard part had been when they identified T-Dog's body. I didn't ask them what kind of man he had been. I could tell just by the looks on their faces that he had been an important part of the group. Nearby, Daryl found something that made his expression drop. A thin headscarf. I looked at the piece of cloth, before shaking my head sadly. I knew he was certain they had lost another member of their group.

Once the tombs were as clear as possible, Rick walked off to do something without a word to Daryl or me. It was then that I took the chance to ask to see the scarf. Daryl sent me a dirty look, but didn't say anything as I dropped in front of Riley, pressing the scarf to his nose. He whined and tried to pull away, his ears flat against his head.

"C'mon, boy, I know you can find her," I whispered. He looked at me before taking the cloth in his mouth, pulling firmly at the leash.

"He tracks?" Daryl asked, his tone emotionless.

"Yeah, he tracks," I nodded. I wrapped the leash around my wrist as Riley led us through the hallways, his nose pressed to the ground. He sat down beside a dead walker, his body shaking with low, inaudible growls. I looked at Daryl, who cocked an eyebrow before tugging the dead body out of the way. Riley jumped to his feet, barking loudly at the door, his ears perked.

"I got you," I told Daryl as he slowly opened the door, a knife in his hand. To our amazement, instead of a walker, there, huddled in a corner of the closet, sat a very tired, very weak looking woman with short, grey hair.

"Carol," Daryl said in a hushed tone, kneeling beside her. "Thank god." I smiled as he picked her up, having to run just to keep up with Riley who seemed all too eager to get out of the dark, damp tombs.

Once back in our cellblock, I unclipped the leash and allowed Riley to relax. He seemed to hum with happiness as he walked over to the far corner of the perch, lying down on the cool floor. I smiled at him, before turning my attention to the commotion in the hall.

As soon as I saw the woman, my heart dropped.