For notes and disclaimer, see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead: Carol's dreams don't seem so sweet and she wakes with a start. Daryl finds himself giving advice, which isn't well received.

Voice of Reason

The laughter floated through the woods, sweet like honey, light like feathers. She did her best to trail along. There wasn't a clear path. Gnarled roots, fallen branches lined the path as she climbed through. "Sophia?" she called.

"C'mon, Mom!"

"Sophia, slow down, would you?" It felt sticky in the woods, hotter than it had in the field. She wasn't as young as she used to be; the exertion wasn't fun after a while. She struggled to keep up.

"Gotta be faster!"

Carol pushed harder, using the smaller trees to propel herself forward. The further they went, the more she knew they'd never be back in the field again. The safety was gone, lost forever. The soft grass, the beautiful flowers, the bluer than blue sky, all abandoned. She felt dizzy as she continued, deeper and deeper into the woods. The light shining through the tree branches created a strobe effect as she moved.

"I can't wait for you to see this," she said, her voice almost sing-song.

She wanted, desperately, to think happy thoughts, to wonder what it was Sophia wanted to show her. Maybe a new kind of flower, a beautiful tree. She was worried about what was hiding in the shadows. Animals, predators... They weren't safe, of that Carol was certain.

"It's so beautiful, Mom. I don't want you to miss it! C'mon!" There was an urgency in her voice that hadn't been there before. Sophia wasn't scared, just eager.

Pressing on, Carol had a hard time feeling her legs. It was like there was a short circuit, an issue in her brain. She knew she was running and had been for a while, but she the fatigue she knew she should be experiencing just wasn't there.

The melody of Sophia's laughter was accentuated by a repeated mantra, a warm drawl that seemed both out of place yet exactly where it needed to be. She couldn't make out the words at first. Not until she nearly fell, face first, into a creek was she finally able to make out Daryl's voice.

"Ain't real."

When she sat up, it was in a new campsite, hours further down the road. It hadn't been as secure as the last one, surrounded by rock walls. They were protected by an earthen mound, the remnant from some old construction project that had never gotten too far off the ground, only partially cleared and surrounded by piles of fill dirt that had been dumped but never spread. It was warmer than the last camp, as the walls with the open doorways had created a breezeway.

When morning rolled around, and Carol woke, Daryl was sitting, crouched on one of the man-made hills, his crossbow balanced on his knee.

As was her custom, she got up, shook out her blanket, and made her way to the bike.

He hadn't asked if she wanted to ride with him when they'd left the morning before. He'd just looked at her and she'd quietly climbed on behind him. There were other seats, she could've easily ridden with someone else and been more secure inside a car, but sitting behind Daryl had been just fine.

He watched her for a moment before standing and descending the hill slowly.

Carol took quick stock of the camp, noting well that the others were asleep and far from them. Nervously, she cleared her throat. "Don't take this the wrong way..."

He arched an eyebrow.

"But you were in my dream. Sort of."

Daryl ran a hand through his hair. "All right," he drawled, waiting for her to continue, if she wanted to.

"What you said yesterday..."

He never said much, and he couldn't recall what he'd said the day before, if anything, that would've been important enough for her to remember.

"It's not real. My baby can't be hurt anymore. Even if the dream winds up being bad as these nights wear on, at least... at least this time, I can be there with her. She won't have to die alone, wondering where her mama is."

He wasn't entirely sure it was healthy, not that he had ever been a good judge of that before. Maybe it was all part of the grieving process. Things hadn't slowed down enough since the dead started rising for any of them to fully go through the motions of loss. There were still dreams of his that felt so real, of ice cold beer, cell phones, and twenty-four hour television stations. "Just, so long as you remember where you're supposed to be."

She tilted her head to one side curiously, rubbing the chill from her arms. "What do you mean?"

"Dreams, reality... it's all messed up anymore. Don't forget which one you're really living."

Sage advice, she realized, from the camp's only voice of reason. She gave him the smallest of smiles in return. "I won't."

Stay tuned...