That voice. Daryl knew that voice. The low growl, the demand for retribution, the threat in it. He knows that voice.
Rick puts his hands up. He steps clear. He walks into the yard of the house, slow.
"Tyreese?"
Daryl glimpses movement in a window. The movement of what could have been the barrel of a gun, or an eyeball.
"Rick?"
Then Sasha is running, straight from the tree she'd been behind, sleek and thin and uncaring as she flies. The door swings open with a yelled, "Carol- Carol!"
Sasha sobs hard when she slams into her brother's chest.
