𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 | 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘎𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴

The Farm

Later that afternoon, once Maggie and I wrap up the chores, I decide to seek out Daryl in the hopes of getting him to teach me hunting and shooting. My skills in these areas are practically nonexistent, and I want to contribute more to the group's survival efforts. And learning self-defense during this walker-infested world seems like a good idea.

I find Daryl at the stables, engrossed in tinkering with a motorcycle. It's quiet here, the only sound being the clinking of his tools against the engine and cicadas going off in the distance.

I understand why he spends time here, it's peaceful.

"Hey, sorry to bother you. I've been told you're a good hunter and shot- d'you think you could teach me some stuff?" I request gingerly, watching nervously for his reaction. I know he's not exactly Mr. Popular around here, but for some reason, I feel like I can trust him.

Daryl glances up from his motorcycle, looking me up and down once. "You look different when you're not covered in shit," he grunts with a sniff, looking back at the motorcycle.

I sigh.

I doubt I'll ever live that down.

"It was not shit, it was mud to help me camouflage so I could catch a raccoon. That was before you, Glenn, and Andrea ruined it," I huff, crossing my arms with frustration and shifting my feet on the uneven dirt.

Daryl squints at me under the bright sunlight. "We ain't the reason you didn't catch that racoon," He replies gruffly, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

I huff. "Well no, that's why I'm asking for your help," I get out exasperatedly, my brows furrowed.

Daryl takes a second before finally glancing at me, his eyes assessing me once again. "Fine. 'Cause you saved the girl." he concedes roughly, standing up and chucking his tools aside, making me smile.

Together, Daryl and I venture into the woods, finding a small clearing that's perfect for our purpose. After collecting some supplies, Daryl shows me how to make snares fit for a small squirrel all the way up to a large possum. I watch carefully, making mental notes of his technique, trying to commit it to my memory.

Daryl shows me how to tie the twigs together and connect them with twine, explaining the mechanics of how the animal gets caught. Then, he tells me to make one of my own, with no help from him.

I follow his instructions, attempting to replicate how he made the snares. I struggle considerably, taking twice as long as he did. Daryl watches silently, not helping as I struggle.

Eventually, after a lot of effort, I finish my snare. To test its capability, we toss a rock onto the bait, and the snare triggers almost immediately. I can't contain my excitement and let out a squeal of joy before impulsively hugging Daryl. Pride and enthusiasm fill me as I embrace him.

Then reality hits me, and I release him quickly, taking a hurried step back, my eyes wide. "Uh sorry," I breathe sheepishly as Daryl studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable.

" 's alright," is all he manages, squinting his eyes slightly as he assesses me. The awkwardness is broken when he changes the subject, announcing that he'll help me with my aim.

He lets me borrow his crossbow to not draw any walkers to our clearing or waste ammo like we would with a gun.

Daryl lends me his crossbow to avoid attracting walkers and wasting ammunition. He then proceeds to teach me the basics: breathing techniques, proper bow handling, and managing recoil. Not too long in, I start to get the hang of it.

He grunts with approval, I think. "You learn quick," he grumbles with a slight nod.

"You're a good teacher." I respond honestly, giving him a warm smile, then tilting my head thoughtfully. "And I guess 12 years of surgical training taught me to grasp things quickly. While performing an appendectomy seems easier than this, I think I'll catch on quickly," I chuckle, walking over to rip out the arrows embedded in the bark of the tree at the end of our clearing that we've been using as a target. I toss the arrows back to Daryl, who catches them adeptly to reload his crossbow.