AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

There's a short time jump.

I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

111

Daryl didn't know a great many things about women, but he was learning more about them as he kept Carol in his care until she was ready to be turned loose to find a new mate. He didn't understand all of his newly acquired knowledge, really, but he collected the pieces to know Carol and, by extension, women, better.

Daryl had learned that all women had courses that came upon them at least somewhat regularly. He had learned that men didn't care for the courses of their mates, because it appeared that many men were skittish when it came to blood. He had learned that women were grateful and appreciative of everything, and that they were a little skittish by nature. He'd also learned that they were soft, and their voices were soft, and their presence made everything feel simply calm.

Or, maybe, some of that was more about Carol than about the entirety of women, but Daryl's knowledge of Carol comprised the majority of his knowledge about the entirety of women.

Daryl had returned to the shanty where he'd first found Carol. Most of the livestock was gone—day-by-day, the number of sickly animals there lessened. Daryl assumed that either the animals had given up and died from their hunger, or Ed, Carol's poorly-chosen mate, had sold them for what money they might bring. Daryl returned to the shanty when Ed wasn't there and, following Carol's instructions, he'd taken her things—still where she'd left them—and brought them to her at the shelter. Her possessions were few, honestly, and after returning them to her, Daryl had traded in town to acquire her a few new things and a bag in which she might carry everything as she searched the available mates for one that was suitable and agreeable to her.

When the woman who worked in the mercantile had questioned Daryl about his need for lady's things, he'd asked her if he was meant to give account for the use of everything he purchased in her store. It had quietened her up enough that she'd wrapped his package so that he could take it to Carol.

Carol had wept, on her knees, over the under-things and the two simple dresses that, unfortunately, hung on her still-thin frame a little too loosely when she'd finally put them on. Daryl worried that he hadn't picked them well, but she had promised him that they were the nicest things she'd ever owned, and she'd made him sweet bread with the ingredients he'd brought from town and fresh coffee to share.

When, some days later, Daryl had begun to say, again, that soon she might go about choosing herself a proper mate—as soon, of course, as her courses had done what it was that courses were meant to do—Carol had been quite put off her food, and she'd retreated away from him to work at scraping pelts he would take to town and to wipe tears away without him watching her too closely. Her tears, when he saw them, made Daryl's stomach ache in a quite uncomfortable way, so he usually put himself to work doing just about task he could when she got like that. He'd put himself to sifting the yellow out of the nearby water while she'd wept that day—meaning to tuck it away for buying things she might need, and things that might make her weep in the happy way she had the day that she'd made him sweet bread—and, when he came back, he found her quite transformed.

"Someone try to scalp you?" Daryl asked, the moment he found her, again, quite different than he'd left her.

Carol frowned deeply at him. She touched her hair. It had been long, curly, and shiny—copper and silver. Daryl admired it because it was beautiful and, honestly, one of the best things about having Carol there while she waited for her courses to pass so that she could choose a suitable mate, was that Daryl was free to covet her as much as he wanted. He could be close to her, and he could look at her, and he could hear her pretty voice without any of the sneaking around he'd done before. He could, even, stay awake at night after he'd sent her to bed with her blanket, and he could watch over her while she slept. He could covet her any time he wanted.

Her hair, now, though, was quite different than it had been. It still glittered copper and silver, but it was gone—or mostly gone. The length that was left wasn't much more than half of Daryl's fingers in length. Though there were hints of the curls that had been there before at the edges of what was left, most of those curls were in a pile on the ground near the fire.

Carol wiped at her eyes and nose with a rag. The tears Daryl had tried to outrun by gathering up the small bag of yellow he'd put together were still there.

"I did it," she said. "Myself. I—borrowed your scissors. But I put them back."

"I don't care what'cha used," Daryl said. "But—why'd you do that? It's—some kinda courses thing?"

Daryl didn't feel like it could be a courses thing. He'd seen a good many women in towns that had never cut their hair up so short before, and if it was a courses thing, he figured it might be something he saw with at least some regularity.

Carol shook her head and wiped at her nose again.

"You're going to take me to town," Carol said. "And he's going to find me. And when he does? He's going to kill me. I meant, for a long time, to do this. I was always afraid of what he'd do, though, when he got home. I never could—figure out how to not be there when he got home to see it."

Daryl furrowed his brow at her.

"You meant to—do this?" He asked. "You mean you meant to cut all your hair off?"

"He pulls my hair," Carol said. "Catches it if I try to run. Holds me. Rips it out. Like this—there's nothing he can hold. I might can…get away."

Daryl's stomach felt uncomfortable, and he was grateful that he hadn't had any supper yet—not that it looked like there would be any anytime soon—because he might have felt inclined to part company with it, if he had.

During the time that Carol had been with him, waiting for her courses to do what they needed to do and pass so that she was ready to take a mate again, her face had mostly healed. The bruises were almost entirely gone, with only the slightest shade of green and yellow where the very worst of them had been. It was almost easy for Daryl to forget why it was that he'd freed her from her poorly-chosen mate to turn her loose to find something better.

Now, it all came crashing back to him.

"You ain't gonna have to get away from nobody no more," Daryl said.

"I will," Carol said. "When he gets me. Or else he'll kill me, if I don't get away. So—I have to get away."

"To get back to your mate…" Daryl offered.

"So I don't die!" Carol barked. The wet and weepy tears that had been trailing down her face suddenly came in much more of a wash, and her voice cracked. "So I don't die, Daryl! I don't want to die! I don't want to—I don't want to hurt anymore! I don't want to die! Can't you understand that? You're smart! You told me you're smart! You said you could read and cipher…well…try to understand that I don't want to die! I don't want him to kill me! I don't—I don't want him to touch me anymore!"

Daryl immediately brought his thumb to his mouth and began to bite, there, at the little pieces of hard skin. He found it calming to do so, even though he often bit too hard and too long—tasting the blood that, apparently, made other men downright skittish.

"He ain't gonna touch you," Daryl said. "That's why you ain't his mate no more—so he don't touch you, an' he don't hurt you, and he sure don't kill you." Daryl shook his head at her. "You gonna find you a good mate. The right kind. And the right kinda mate's gonna take care of you. From the way I understand it, that's the whole point—find a good mate and he takes care of you. Protects you, you understand? Feeds you. And, then…you…"

"What?" Carol asked. The wave of tears was done, now, and she was back to wiping at wet eyes and a damp nose with one of the clean rags that she washed in the water when she washed everything else. "What do I do, Daryl? As a mate. What's my—purpose—as a mate? What's my job? As you…as you…understand it…what makes me a good mate for that good mate I'm supposed to find?"

Daryl stared at her. He hadn't dropped his thumb, yet, and he let his teeth and lips explore it a moment more before he responded. She didn't seem to be in too big of a hurry. She mopped at her face, and she faced him, waiting.

"You don't know?" Daryl asked, finally.

"No," Carol said. "I don't. I want to know what I should know. At least—as you understand it."

Daryl dropped his thumb. He went to his supplies. He busied himself with making a cigarette. Carol followed him, and her gaze hung on him. She wasn't letting him go, that much was clear, without some kind of response.

Daryl lit his cigarette and drew from it before he spoke to her again. Giving her time to wait had also giving her time to mop her face clean and to slowly get the tears under control so that they weren't actively falling anymore. Daryl felt a certain sense of peace settle around the both of them again.

"I just supposed that you would know, as a woman, what your role as a mate was."

"I don't," Carol said. "Nobody ever told me."

"You was his mate," Daryl said.

Carol laughed. It didn't sound sincere and warm. It was a burst of laughter that made Daryl's stomach ache again because, honestly, he didn't believe it was laughter at all.

"And he told me what I ought to do, and what I ought to be," Carol said. "But—it changed, Daryl. Every day it changed. Every hour. What I know, and what I understood from Ed, was that there were things a…a mate…ought to be, and I wasn't any of them. I wasn't any good at any of them. You keep telling me that—that you're going to take me to town. That I'll have to choose another mate. But, I don't think I can do that if I don't know what I'm supposed to be as a mate."

"You ain't had no parents to teach you what you was to do?" Daryl asked. "Even Jim—well, he weren't no parent, exactly, but he did tell me about the men that took mates an' all that meant to him, at least."

"My daddy was the one that gave me to Ed," Carol said. "Traded me—same as you trade those beaver pelts when you take them to town. The pelts might be worth more, Daryl, than a girl-child is. He had too many of us, and mama just kept making him girl-children. A girl child isn't worth what it takes to feed her, you know?"

"No," Daryl said, shaking his head. "I don't know."

"Well—she ain't," Carol said with a shaky sounding sigh. "Would've been better to drown us at birth. I heard him say it once, and it's true…as far as I can tell. We weren't of any use to him. Not for more than what we could bring in trade, and…most men wouldn't trade for us until our courses came."

"Ed traded for you?" Daryl asked.

"Or bought me outright," Carol said. "I don't know. But he said it was a bad deal for him. Said I was the best of what was on offer, but it wasn't a good deal for him. So—you tell me, as you understand it, what's my job as a mate?"

"I always figured you would know," Daryl said. "But—as I understand it?"

"That's all I'm asking," Carol said.

Daryl chewed his lip and nodded. He ran through, in his mind, everything he'd ever believed he knew about women. He ran through everything Jim had ever told him about the men they knew who had taken mates—both of the short and long-term variety—and why they'd done what they done. He ran through the things he thought he recalled Jim saying he'd read about mates in his old Bible.

"You supposed to…take care of him," Daryl said. "He's supposed to take care of you, and you're supposed to take care of him."

"How?" Carol asked. "How do I take care of him, when I can't even take care of myself?"

"It's a different kinda takin' care," Daryl said. "He brings the food an' you cook it. You tend his clothes."

"And his…cuts?" Carol asked. She was good at that. Daryl had hurt himself, which was not entirely unusual, with the slip of a knife. It wasn't too serious, but she'd insisted that he let her clean the cut and wrap it tightly so that it almost seemed to heal as quick as he'd slipped and done it.

"All his care like that," Daryl said.

Carol seemed to relax a little. Daryl felt it, it seemed, in the air. He felt himself relaxing, too.

"What else?" Carol asked. "What does a good woman do for her mate?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"From what I understand—you're real soft to him. Tender. And he can be real soft with you and there ain't no shame in it if you're bein' soft with your mate, because that's necessary."

"Necessary…" Carol said. Daryl honestly wasn't sure if it was a question or if she was just chewing, real slow like, on what he was telling her. He nodded his head.

"There's the ruttin' too, of course."

"Rutting," Carol repeated.

"Matin'," Daryl clarified. "Ruttin'. He's got needs that—they ain't gotta be met, but if he's got a mate, they oughta be."

A hint of a smile played at Carol's lips and she nodded her head gently.

"They ought to be," Carol said. "If he's…being soft with her, like is necessary…for the rutting, I mean."

Daryl nodded.

"You understand it," he said.

"But I was a very bad mate for Ed," Carol said.

"Maybe he just weren't no good mate," Daryl offered.

The hint of a smile grew.

"Maybe," she ventured. Almost immediately, the smile fell. She shook her head. "But—he's still going to be looking for me in town," Carol said. "And, when he finds me? He's still going to kill me."

"No," Daryl said. He shook his head. Still, something in his gut ached and churned. It made him feel unwell and unsettled—something he didn't normally feel so much in Carol's presence. "No," he repeated, more for himself than for her. She was already convinced. "Just the same—I gotta…take in some things to town and buy some tobacco." Carol nodded her head at what he said. She didn't argue that his pouch was nearly full. "You—throw that hair out, OK? Around. For the birds. And—you got somethin' for makin' supper?"

"That deer I wrapped up from yesterday," Carol said.

"There's enough for us to both eat good?" Daryl asked. "No—no thinkin' you holdin' back?"

"There's plenty," Carol said.

"Then—I'ma go…get tobacco. Take some things into town. I'll be back by sundown for supper."

"Would you be wanting to wash tonight?" Carol asked. "I could make the biscuits early and warm you some water for washing off."

She seemed eager to do something, so Daryl simply nodded.

"That'll be fine," he said.

"I could—cut your hair, too," Carol said. "It'll make you feel good."

Daryl scratched at his hair—now a great deal longer than hers.

"Just a little," she added. "With the scissors."

"We'll see," Daryl said. "Now—you don't go too far. Just to the water, but—don't'cha go no further."

"I never go any further," Carol assured him. She looked lighter now, though, than she had. Daryl slipped into the cave to have a look at the pelts she'd scraped—to see what he might take to town—and left her busying herself with all the many chores she'd found to fill her days while she waited for her courses to pass.