Chapter Two
Third Person POV
Daryl's breathing was soundless as he remained crouched low where he was, crossbow resting on a fallen tree trunk while his sharp eyes remained fixed on the buck out ahead.
"Just a little further...then I'll have the shot," Daryl thought to himself as he dared not move a muscle, only waiting with an eerie patience as the deer sniffed a few leaves on the ground and remained unknowingly shielded from the razor-sharp points of the hunter's arrows by a few trees.
Suddenly, the deer lifted his head and sniffed the air, obviously having heard something further out that spooked it.
"Ugh...come on..." Daryl thought bitterly, the muscles in his shoulders beginning to burn from keeping his heavy crossbow still for so long, the hunter not missing the way the deer now seemed to be more alert.
"Fuck it...this'll slow 'im down in case he decides to bolt..." Daryl surmised the situation, relaxing his arms and then firing off one arrow towards the buck's hindquarters.
The arrow sunk into its target, and the deer took off.
"Here we go..." Daryl said out loud in dry humor, as he sprang up from spot and gave chase to his running prey, leaping over the fallen tree trunk that had given him cover.
The hunter was remarkably light on his feet as he navigated expertly through the woods, never losing sight of the frightened buck, until he heard an unmistakeable sound that stopped him in his tracks.
Daryl Dixon never needed to second guess that sound because it forever haunted his dreams.
The hunter calmed his breathing, and lifted his crossbow, the thickly surrounding trees making it more difficult than usual to ascertain exactly where that noise was coming from.
Daryl focused his hearing for only a moment more, before turning precisely towards a walker that was located several yards away from him, stumbling sloppily around the trees to get to him.
"Found ya, ya fuckin' bastard," Daryl remarked coldly before reloading another arrow into the crossbow, heaving it to its firing position as he brought one eye to the red scope and then shot.
The walker gave one last howl as the arrow pierced right between its bulging eyes and then dropped to the forest floor, and Daryl cursed as he knew that if there any other walkers in the area, they would have heard that awful screech it had just made.
"Shit..." he said quietly as he went to the fallen walker, placed his boot on its discolored and bloody head, and then yanked out the arrow that sent several chunks of blackened blood and skull popping forth.
Arrow and crossbow in his hands, the hunter resumed his task of tracking the deer, easily able to follow the skittish animal that left large, obvious hoof prints in the mud in its haste.
Some scuffed bark on a tree sent the hunter making a sharp left, his steps quickening to a sprint as he could tell the buck had slowed down considerably, either from exhaustion or pain or possibly another walker that had come by.
Either way, Daryl knew he needed to hurry if he wanted the camp to have that meat at all.
Finally, he saw the racing buck come into view again, the single arrow still lodged near its backside.
Ignoring his increasing need for air, Daryl replaced the filthy arrow back into the crossbow, his pace never slowing even as he completed multiple tasks at once.
He had a clear shot that would take the deer down.
Daryl lifted the loaded crossbow aimed at the buck as he stepped over another pile of decayed wood and moss, but just as he did so, a hideously deformed hand reached out from below and grabbed his ankle.
The hunter gasped as he jerked his body forward, the arrow firing off target and striking the deer very close to the first shot, as Daryl spun around in place with a hand already retrieving the long survival knife he kept on his right side.
A walker clumsily got to his feet with unsteady movements, but Daryl only let it get so far before he rushed towards it and jammed the length of the blade through its forehead with a sickening sound.
He retracted his knife, swiped only one flat side of it against his trousers, and then replaced it back in its sheath on his hip, sharp eyes surveying the immediate area while his ears listened for anything farther out.
"They don't usually come out this far..." Daryl thought to himself regarding his run-ins with two walkers out in this part of the woods so far, finding it odd, "...camp is close now...better start heading that way..."
Daryl sniffed, adjusted his hold on his crossbow, and walked in the direction he knew would bring him closer to the camp.
The sunlight was mercilessly hot overhead, but Daryl did not mind as he brushed passed bright green leaves that looked like they were painted all around him rather than physically existing.
Daryl could feel himself breathe easier but his fingers still itched to tear apart more walkers, to end their chaotic existence and watch as they dropped like flies before him, his soul still stirring with the need for a satisfying fight.
He could hear some twigs snap not far from where he was.
Daryl pushed aside that wildfire inside him as much as he possibly could as he brought his crossbow up to a perfect shooting position, navigating down a bit of a slope to the landscape as he could hear the subtle noises growing louder and louder.
The hunter locked his jaw, his cerulean eyes squinting against the light as he finally stepped out of the treeline and into plain sight, immediately spotting a few people from camp walking towards his direction, all of them armed with blunt instruments.
Shane saw him first and breathed in relief.
"Son of a bitch. That's my deer! Look at it, all gnawed on by this...filthy, disease-bearing, motherless, poxy bastard!" Daryl could not help but growl out as he delivered a few, solid kicks to the side of the fallen walker lying motionless at their feet, his anger swelling.
"Calm down, son, that's not helping..." Dale tried to reason with the quick-tempered redneck but only to suddenly have said person approach him to his face with a quip hot on his tongue.
"What do you know about it, old man?!" Daryl vented his frustration of his hard work going to waste,
"...take that stupid hat and go back to On Golden Pond."
The group of men watched as Daryl sighed as he turned back towards the contaminated deer, bloody and gaping before them all.
"...trackin' this deer for miles..." Daryl remarked, mostly to himself, as he swiftly pulled out his two bolts from the deer's useless hide, "...gon' drag it back to camp...cook us up some venison..."
Shane shifted his weight, seemingly annoyed with the hunter's rambling, the whole group merely listening to Daryl vent while no one noticed that one member was positively fixated on him, his blue eyes glued to every movement the hunter made.
"What you think, can't we just cut around this chewed up part right here..." Daryl genuinely asked the group aloud, his eyes looking up to Shane, missing the way the newest member of the group that had just joined the day before could not take his gaze off of him for a second.
"I'd not risk that," Shane answered fairly, earning another sigh from Daryl as he consented in his own way and stood back up to his full height from leaning over the deer.
"That's a damn shame..." the hunter acquiesced, his tone having calmed down considerably as he now just spoke plainly to the rest of the men, "...I got some squirrel; it'll have to do."
Daryl Dixon finally looked towards the stranger's direction as he adjusted his catch that remained tied around his shoulder, immediately seeing sky-blue eyes and pink, parted lips that he did not recognize, but a sound and a movement from the ground commanded everyone's attention at once.
The walker's severed head snapped its jaws a few times, still able to move.
"Come on, people, what the hell..." Daryl spoke up, bringing his crossbow up and only needing a second to aim it at the walker's head before releasing an arrow deep into its eye socket, "...s'gotta be the brain."
The group collectively breathed easier.
"Don't y'all know nothing...?" Daryl said in passing as he stepped around the walker and through the middle of the circle, ready to head back to camp.
He walked casually by the stranger standing there in a clean white tee shirt, and the hunter had missed the way the other man had turned after him so he may continue to watch him leave; light-blue eyes unblinking while a thousand gears tried to overlap one another upon witnessing such a man.