Notes: Happy Holidays to those that celebrate! And a happy Monday to those that don't! Hope y'all enjoy the new chapter :)

The four made their way down to the beach from the Oceanside radio shack. Daryl split off to see Connie, who was helping pull in one of the fishing nets dragging fish from the calm sea waves. Dog raced past him, jumping up to greet her.

"I don't know who likes her more," Sasha chuckled. "Daryl or that dog."

"Oh, definitely Daryl," Carl laughed.

"I saw him reading an ASL book at dinner the other night," Jenny added.

When Daryl caught back up with them, Dog wasn't with him.

"Maybe Dog does like her more," Carl gasped at the others, much to Daryl's confusion.

Down by the docks, Ezekiel had somehow gotten there before the rest of them. Daryl and he had a long and awkward conversation about birds that ended in Ezekiel questioning what seagull tastes like.

"Like shit," Jenny said. "I bet they taste like shit."

"Definitely not chicken," Daryl added.

"I've had seagull," Sasha said casually.

They all stared at her.

"What?" she asked.

"What did it taste like?" Carl asked.

She smirked, shook her head, and went back to looking out over the ocean.

There was a yap behind them, the sound of the boardwalk creaking as Connie and Dog made their way down the dock.

"Hey, buddy," Daryl chuckled as Dog bounced up to greet him, licking at his chin.

Connie smirked, writing something down and showing Daryl, to which he slowly stumbled his way through a sentence with the sign language he had been learning.

Carl had stopped paying attention by that point, watching now the boat that had come into view in the bay a few minutes ago. Carol and Rhys were standing on the bow of the ship, waving their arms as the boat pulled into Oceanside's bay. A few minutes later and Carl was catching a rope tossed to him by one of the Oceanside crew on board, securing it to the post by his leg.

Rhys leapt off first, right into Carl's arm, who spun him around in dizzying circles, kissing his cheek a hundred times before letting Rhys kiss him properly. They laughed for a moment, Carl's hat falling off and catching between them as they took a second to stare at each other and grin like idiots.

Rhys and Carol's voyage had been two weeks to the day, their boat loaded with baskets of fish and barrels of crabs. In the past months they had become something close to professional seafarers through their travels.

Sasha swooped in as soon as Carl loosened his grip on Rhys, grabbing a rough fistful of her brother's hair and pulling his face into her shoulder in one of her typically rough hugs.

Jenny and Connie hugged Rhys, too, and by the time he was face to face with Daryl, he looked like he was anticipating something.

"So what, you some kind of fisherman now?" Daryl asked, squinting down at him.

"Guess so," Rhys answered. "Better than you anyway."

Daryl laughed then, rushing forward and lifting Rhys off his feet and into a bone-crushing hug.

"Hey, Rhys!" one of the Oceanside sailors called from the deck of the Charybdis, tossing a slimey looking net onto the dock. "Next time you help unload, yes?"

Rhys rushed to grab the net, not seeming to mind the slime as he hauled it up and passed it to one of the other Oceansiders that had come to help them offload. "Yes, Captain, sorry."

Carol, who had helped unload the boat, hopped off the skiff, the ship's captain tossing her pack to her. They shared a brief nod.

Ezekiel smiled at Carol, and the two engaged in a skin-crawlingly awkward conversation that everyone else pretended not to be listening to. Carol excused herself from it, taking her time to hug everyone before Daryl tackled her into the air.

"Did ya miss me?" she laughed.

Daryl set her back down, shrugging casually. "Not really."

"I'll take that."

Before she and Daryl walked away, Carol fished into her pack and tossed Rhys a book. Before Carl could read the title, Rhys tossed it back.

"Keep it," he told her. "God knows you didn't read much of it out there."

She waved it at him in thanks before she and Daryl headed back to the beach.

"So, what do you want to do first?" Carl asked. "Apart from say hello to Downy... because he's missed you more than me."

"Eat..." Rhys grinned something silly. "Anything but fish."

Carl glanced back at the beach to where Oceanside sat nestled in the tree line past the golden dunes. "Bad news."

After visiting the stables, Rhys dumped his bags in Carl's cabin, and then they ate at the tent covered mess hall. Rhys didn't complain about the fish stew, but Carl could tell he missed the taste of land dwelling meats.

"So," Jenny said, lifting her leg onto the bench beside her to fiddle with the strap on her prosthetic. "How was it?"

Rhys had an infectious smile on his face as he poked at a lump of mackerel in the grey water brewing inside his bowl.

"Well, you spend your days up to your elbows in fish guts, hauling nets out of the water and soaking through your clothes no matter how many layers you put on. But by the end of it, you get to lie down on the deck, eat whichever fish looked at you sideways that day, and watch the stars."

"Sounds exhausting," Sasha said.

"Backbreaking," Rhys laughed.

"What was with that book earlier," Jenny asked.

"Oh," Rhys chuckled, "Carol gets pretty seasick if she reads, so I'm letting her keep the book I brought while we're on shore."

"That's nice of you," Carl said.

Rhys shrugged.

"Is everything..." Carl paused. "Are things good between you two?"

Rhys glanced out towards the sea. "Out there, it doesn't matter. You don't get time to think about it."

"Any news from Maggie?" Sasha asked.

Rhys shook his head. "We sailed down to the dock that she'd been leaving letters at for Oceanside, but nothing. It's like she's disappeared... she's not where she said she was in her last letter she sent to me."

Sasha nodded, taking Rhys' bowl and standing up. "Carl and Jenny can tell you what happened today. When you're ready, I'll be at the stables."

She left, and Rhys looked at the other two, confused.

"We found a mask," Jenny told him.

"Might be nothing," Carl added.

Rhys was quiet, and the other two looked at each other nervously.

"Carol just headed out with Daryl," Carl said. "But Daryl said she didn't want to look for signs of Whisperers... we could do that instead if you want?"

"Yeah," Jenny said. "There's a pretty cool waterfall you two could go see just a few miles out east. Found it with Downy yesterday. I don't mind riding with Sasha."

Rhys squinted at them. "You're both itching to get out there, aren't you."

The way they looked away told him he was right.

Rhys stood. "Let's saddle up."

-Rhys and Sasha-

The trail they were on ran past a river thick with cattails and pickerelweed — an overgrown forest sprouting wet greens and tangerine oranges on the side where the skyline of DC a few miles away was just barely visible above.

The path was narrow enough that Sasha and Dusty had to ride behind Rhys and Downy Beardy, who was still getting used to being saddled up again.

Sasha watched as Rhys leaned forward in his saddle to whisper something into Downy Beardy's ear and scratch his neck.

"Missed the feeling of a saddle?" she called up to him.

He sat up, looking back at her and smiling modestly. "It's more similar to being on a boat than you'd think."

Glancing back, he could see the dark look on her face.

"What?" he asked.

"Hilltop's missed you, Rhys," she said. "With shit getting real again... might be time to come home for real."

"I've missed Hilltop," he admitted to her. "Missed you and everyone there. I just needed some time."

"And I've let you have it."

"I know."

"So?"

Rhys sighed, smiling at her before looking back at the narrow path. "If this turns out to be real, don't think I'll have much choice."

"All we've got are choices, Rhys. I need you to make the right one."

Rhys checked the radio on his belt, frowning at the static. "Should we be wondering this far out of range? Are we on the right border?"

There was a clearing up ahead, a small campsite that looked old. The handful of colourful tents were torn and collapsed. A rusted camper with a missing door was parked by the water; a nesting of ducklings settled in one of its wheels that had rolled down to the shore.

"Let's check it out," Sasha said, Rhys hopping off his horse after her and hitching the two to a tree.

Their presence must have been loud enough because the tents started to rustle. Five walkers drowsily rose from their tents.

"You get the ones in the camper," Sasha said, heading to the tents.

"Which ones in the—"

Two more stumbled out of the camper door.

"Ah," Rhys said. "Those ones in the camper."

Sasha drew her axe. "Looks like you don't get to miss training day after all."

"Yippee," Rhys said sarcastically, pulling the spear off his saddle.

"Watch their hands."

Rhys got the first walker off its feet with the butt off his spear. The long-dead guy hit the ground hard, hissing skyward as he struggled to stand. Rhys smirked, quickly flipping his grip on his spear and feeling the weight in his hand before launching it at the second walker. The sharp point went straight through its chest, knocking it back into the camper's side where it pierced and held the walker still, pinning it to the metal wall.

Rhys glanced over to Sasha to see her cleaving the head of her third walker. He turned his attention back to the walker he'd knocked over when he heard it finally start to stand. He reached down to the holster on his thigh that held four triangular, pointed throwing knives. He drew one, flinging it at the walker just as it sat up, knocking it back down with a thud, now with a polished blade lodged in its skull.

"Shit."

Rhys spun on his heels when he heard Sasha curse. Where only a second ago she had been blasting her way through heads, her axe was now stuck in a not-so-soft skull with her fifth walker looming down on her. Rhys sprinted to her, but before he could make it to Sasha, she yanked her hog hunter knife from her belt and stuck it up through the fifth walker's chin and into its brainstem.

Rhys skidded to a halt.

Sasha yanked her knife out, letting the walker drop. Then she pressed her boot to the chest of the one still holding her axe, tearing it free.

She looked over at the camper, pointing with her dripping knife.

"Gonna finish that?"

Rhys, a little dazed at the sudden danger, glanced back at the walker still pinned to the trailer, its teeth snapping as it slowly slid its way up the spear towards freedom.

Rhys marched over to it, putting a hand on the walker's neck and pushing it back down the spear shaft until its back hit the camper wall again. He pulled a knife from his hip and stabbed it in the face.

The clearing was quiet for a moment, the sound of birds singing slowly coming back to the world.

"New knife?" Sasha asked, watching Rhys rip the spear out of the tin wall, the walker sliding down the metal until it slumped on the floor.

Rhys wiped the blade against the ground before handing it to Sasha to inspect.

The blade was a dark metal with a unique wavy pattern. It was damascus steel. The tip of the knife folded back from its point into a hook.

Sasha handed it back to Rhys, who sheathed it on his hip.

"Didn't lose mine, did you?" Sasha asked.

Rhys snickered, turning around and pointing to the back of his belt where Sasha's old knife lived.

"It's not so good at gutting fish, so I got a proper gutting knife."

"Yeah, well that knife," Sasha pointed at the gutting knife, "isn't so good at gutting walkers. Could get stuck."

Rhys nodded. "That's the first walker I've ever killed with it. You don't really see them out on the water."

Sasha waited by the horses for Rhys to retrieve his throwing knife and tear off a piece of one of the ripped tents to clean his spear with. When he got back to his mount, he frowned.

He turned to see Sasha pulling twigs off a branch she'd lifted from the ground.

"How did you know there were seven, by the way?"

She kept stripping the sprouted limbs from the branch.

"You couldn't have seen the two in the trailer," he went on.

Sasha, finally finished with the branch, looked at him.

"You brought me here on purpose, didn't you!" he accused her.

"I told you, it's training day," she said. "Even for you."

"The fuck, Sasha!" Rhys barked. "We're meant to be out here looking for Skins! Not playing around with decade old walkers."

"Playing around?" she said, a trace of a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. "Who was playing around?"

"We're out here to—"

JAB

Rhys stumbled back from the force that came from the branch Sasha just speared his chest with.

He was stunned into silence for a moment as he watched her stare at him intently and unfazed.

"What if that had been a Whisperer?" Sasha asked, her tone high and teaching.

"It wasn't a—"

She struck him again, his back hitting Downy Beardy's saddle this time.

"Sasha..." Rhys hissed. "Stop it."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she chuckled, almost mocking him. "I thought we were playing out here."

"I didn't—"

She jabbed him once more, in the shoulder this time.

"I thought you were ready to fight whisperers?" she taunted. "By the looks of it, you ain't ready to fight a damn stick."

Rhys' face was red, his teeth bared. She jabbed at him again, but he caught it this time — but still not fast enough to block the second stick she swiped at his head. One of the limbs she had removed earlier. The swatch stung where it had hit Rhys' cheek.

"Didn't even see I was holding another weapon," Sasha commented. "What if that been a knife? Or an axe? A sharper fucking stick?"

"What the hell are you trying to prove?!" Rhys screamed at her, holding his red cheek.

Sasha threw the sticks into the dirt. "That just wanting to get revenge on Alpha isn't enough! That going away on a fishing trip and leaving me was an asshole thing to do! That if you can't defend yourself from someone who isn't trying to hurt you, then what in God's name are you going to do against someone that is?! You need to be here! You didn't know we were out of range until you checked your radio. Didn't know we were half a mile away from the border."

"So what?" Rhys grunted.

"So," Sasha hissed, lowering her voice. "You need to do more than just want her dead."

"You think you want it more than me? Think I can't do it?"

"No," Sasha told him sternly. "But when the time comes. I'll know where I am. I'll know where my people are. When I have Alpha in my scope or at the end of my axe... I won't be angry. I won't be happy. I've dealt with that shit since the fair. If that time comes, nothing will be in my way. Especially not myself."

They both went quiet. The horses both grunted and kneaded their hooves into the dirt nervously from all the yelling.

Sasha deflated, pulling Rhys' hand away from his cheek to inspect the small red line across it.

"I'm sorry I went so hard."

Rhys nodded. "I'm sorry I left you alone."

"Wanna talk about why you've been going out there yet?"

"You know why."

"Yeah, but do you want to talk about it?"

Rhys shrugged, picking up the spear he'd dropped and fastening it to Downy Beardy's saddle.

"Rhys..."

"I need to know that he's still alive, Sasha."

"Hershel?"

Rhys nodded. "I need to know if I've fucked up with him, too."

"Hey," she hissed, grabbing his arm tightly. "You didn't fuck up with Henry."

"I was supposed to—"

"You didn't," she said sharply. "He's gone, and it's not your fault. Do you hear me?"

Rhys grimaced.

He opened his mouth to speak...

But then...

It could have been the end of the world.

An act of God.

Rhys and Sasha both looked up as the horses spooked at the sonic boom that rang from the sky.

A roaring ball of fire shot through the clouds and across the sky overhead.

"What the fuck?"