'You gotta be more quiet,' Daryl instructed for what felt like the hundredth time. He felt his previous surliness creep into his voice and cleared his throat, hoping she wouldn't notice. He was just beginning to feel the bond of friendship with Beth and didn't want to spoil that by being standoffish. True, he lacked the patience to teach someone something. Hunting was second nature to him, just something he had always known and been able to do so he found it difficult to empathize with the fact that Beth was making mistakes.

Not wanting to go back to being churlish, he softened his approach. 'I think my crossbow is too big for you. Maybe we oughta stick with your knife.'

When she had first picked the crossbow up a couple of days ago, he had stifled a laugh as her skinny arms trembled from the weight of it. Stubborn, and determined, she wouldn't admit that it was too bulky for her and insisted on Daryl teaching her regardless. She looked as if she had adjusted to its bulk, but it was obvious that it was wrong for her. Plus, Daryl had still had to reload it. Beth's first attempt had been a disaster. She had needed to sit on the ground and push down on the bow with her feet as she pulled upwards with the string. Her hands had slipped off, flying up and smacking herself in the face. The noise of outrage she had uttered still caused Daryl some mirth when he thought about it.

'You're good with the knife,' he pressed.

She turned to him, her face shining at his compliment. 'Really?'

He nodded, muttering an 'mmhmm' of affirmation. She wasn't terrible with it, and since he had taught her a few fighting moves, she could hold her own against a couple of walkers. Besides, he felt naked without his crossbow; it was an extension of him.

'Can I finish tracking this?' she asked.

Daryl shrugged. It wouldn't hurt. He had given her an easy trail to follow; one that was obvious amongst the leaves, a zig zag line of footprints. In front of him, Beth raised the crossbow in front of her face. Her arms shook from the effort and Daryl found himself move closer to her, hesitantly hovering his hands up around her arms, wondering if he should hold them to keep her steady. Although Beth no longer made him feel as uncomfortable as she had done, he didn't want her to get the wrong idea that he was some dirty old hick who was trying any excuse to touch her. It had been a week since he had exposed his emotions to her and he remembered the feel of her small frame pressed against his back as the heaving sobs left his body. He had always associated crying with weakness and it was a habit he rarely got into, but after letting go and having someone there for him - someone who cared - felt freeing. All the anger, and bitterness, and guilt had left him that day. The weight of the prison falling had settled heavily on him, and then he'd been stuck with Beth. He regretted his earlier roughness with her, the way he had yanked her around by the wrist, the way he ignored the imploring in her eyes for him to stop being such a dick. It wasn't her fault, and she wasn't that bad as company. In fact, he rather liked being around her. Her enthusiasm for life wore thin at times, but she was slowly coaxing things out in him; purpose, appreciation for having made it this far, and most importantly a small glimmer of hope. The fact that he felt a bond between them spoke volumes. He felt an instinct to protect her now, to put her needs before and alongside his own, to consider her feelings before he opened his mouth.

'What are we tracking anyway?'

'You tell me,' he pointed to the footsteps. 'Look at the pattern they make, what does it tell you?'

'I know!' she exclaimed. 'It's a walker!'

'Could be a drunk,' he added with a soft chuckle.

Daryl noted Beth's mouth set into a determined line as she crept forward, crossbow still raised and pushed into a clearing in the trees. A small noise of triumph spilled from her lips as the walker came into view. He was knelt on the forest floor, crouched over the remains of a dead deer. Beth continued forward, cocking her head to look through the sight. Daryl drew back, allowing her to go forward by herself and make the kill. He knew she would feel satisfied about it if she felt like he hadn't been involved. His breath caught in his throat as all of sudden, Beth crumpled to the floor with a yelp. She had still managed to fire off an arrow as she fell, sinking it into the walkers shoulder. Daryl propelled forward, knife raised and plunged it into the back of the walker's head before it had a chance to turn around. He pulled it out with a pop, and sheathed it, hurrying over to Beth. She had caught the heel of her boot in a bear trap and her ankle had jarred into an unnatural twisted position. Quickly, supporting her ankle, Daryl fumbled with the trap, pulling it open and releasing her. Gingerly, he moved her foot back and forwards and inspected it.

'Can you move it?'

'I…yes,' she nodded.

He eyed her suspiciously, the pain evident in her face and again felt the full force of the guilt over the way he had previously treated her. It was obvious that it hurt her but she didn't want to be a burden and appear weak to him again.

'Come on then,' he slung his crossbow over his shoulder and helped her up. She walked with a limp but was steady enough on her feet that Daryl felt they could still cover some distance and find a place to spend the night. He didn't want to stop next to the dead deer, the stench erupting from it would be encouraging to walkers, and with Beth injured he could only take on so many by himself. He stood for a moment, taking in their surroundings before leading Beth right, a direction they hadn't been in yet. Once they broke free of the trees, he was sure they'd come across a building to spend the night in. They were well overdue for some good luck.

Beth dragged behind slightly as they crunched through the leaves. She looked at some points like she wanted to complain but thought better of it. Daryl was glad, he wasn't good with comforting words or promises that things would be okay and, as much as he now liked her, he couldn't stand listening to people moaning. It was something else that he lacked patience for. Soon, the trees grew sparse and Daryl could see the remainder of the day's fading light through them more often. They were reaching the edge of the woods and Daryl's senses became heightened, his hand over his crossbow, unsure of where they would come out. They emerged into a small cemetery. In the distance, a house loomed, standing proud on a small hill as if keeping watch over the graves. The tombstones were crumbling and overgrown with weeds, and Daryl felt a shiver run through him as he thought of walkers packed deep underneath the ground, trying to claw their way free. Beth was hesitating.

'You okay?'

'Can we stop for a moment? I just need to sit down,' she looked down at her ankle, an expression of pain decorating her pale face.

Daryl was anxious to reach the house before darkness fell. He wanted to make sure it was empty because if not, they would need to make another trek to find somewhere else to stay unless whoever was staying there wanted to share. He found that unlikely; people nowadays were willing to go to great lengths to protect what they owned and, although he wasn't afraid of a fight, he didn't particularly want to get into one, especially if he didn't know how many he was up against. He adjusted the crossbow across himself and bent down.

'Hop on,' he offered. Beth looked at him blankly. He waggled his hands in encouragement.

'You serious?' she asked slowly.

'Yeah, it's a serious piggyback,' he retorted. 'Now, get on.'

With a little jump she did, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself against his back. Daryl clamped hold her the backs of her thighs and hoisted her up comfortably. Her small frame was deceiving; she weighed a lot more than the looked like she would, and added to the weight of the crossbow and their bag of dwindling supplies, he regretted offering to carry her. He paced slowly through the tombstones, glancing at each one to read the inscription. As they neared a small, crumbling one poking from the grass, Beth slid from his back and stood to read it. Engraved into the stone was the birth and death dates, accompanied by the words 'Loving Father.' Daryl plucked a small bunch of yellow flowers - the only remaining colour in the cemetery - and placed them gently on top, falling back to stand silently beside Beth. He knew she was thinking of Herschel, and his thoughts wandered to the old man too. He had been a good man and Daryl had liked and respected him. Wordlessly, Beth snaked her hand into his. He tensed, feeling her soft skin against his calloused fingers, but found himself threading his fingers with hers and giving her hand a supportive squeeze. He noted the sun sinking lower, taking the temperature - which was already low - with it. He cleared his throat.

'We should keep movin' - I might need to take care of things at the house.'

'Maybe they're good people, Daryl,' Beth gently chided.

'The good ones don't survive,' he replied, offering another piggyback to her.

It was darkening as they arrived at the house. The windows had already been boarded up and Daryl was unsure it that worried or pleased him. He twisted the doorknob slowly and the door swung open.

'Wait,' he said, rapping loudly on the door frame. The noise echoed through the house. Nobody was inside; human or walker.

Inside, the house was pristine. Warning bells signaled in Daryl's head, but he pushed them aside. After checking each room, he was finally satisfied that the place was empty. He doubted that it had been for long and uncertainty rose, wondering if whoever owned this place would be back soon and how they would react to finding two scruffy strangers in their home. When they had been sleeping out in the woods, Daryl had made a makeshift fence out of string and the old cans which they had saved after they were empty. He strung it up now, stretching it across the front porch and gave it a gentle shake. The noise was loud enough that they would hear it inside the house if they had unexpected visitors.

'I told you there were good people,' he heard Beth say as he came back inside. He clicked the lock on the door and gave the wooden boards that were already there a tug. The house was locked up tight and he felt safe enough to remove his hand from the strap on his crossbow.

'Huh?'

He found her next to an open coffin. It suddenly dawned on him that this place was a funeral home. It was lucky he didn't spook easily, if at all, and if Beth felt uncomfortable then it didn't show. The walker in the coffin was completely dead, it's face an unnatural and waxy texture. Daryl prodded his finger into it's cheek and peeled back a greasy layer of gunk. Whoever had been living here had been putting make up on them and dressing them for a funeral. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

'Gross.'

'It's beautiful,' Beth replied, a sharp edge to her tone. He realised he had offended her. 'I told you they were good people. Someone remembers that these were people too. They deserve a funeral like everyone else, and I think that's beautiful. Don't you?'

Daryl didn't trust himself to reply. 'We should look at your ankle,' he changed the subject swiftly. He found a first aid kit in a small room which held trolleys and two more dead and funeral ready walkers. It was an eerie sight. The patches were their skin had decayed and sunken in was still visible through the waxy make up and made them look more horrifying than they already did. He was somewhat envious of Beth's ability to see through the absurdity of it and find the good in it. He had always automatically seen the worst in things. Still, he had never known anything different, never had anyone positive to learn from. Shaking away the depressing thoughts, he unraveled a bandage and helped Beth hop up onto the counter.