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I watched with a rumbling stomach and a salivating mouth as Daryl plucked feathers from the owl he had killed. We had been on the road for months on end, walking side by side in silence until a glimmer of hope shot through each of us when we ran into the beat down house some of the men just cleared. That's where we were now. The house was musty and dingy, but it was shelter, and honestly it was more kept up then any home I had ever known growing up.
We were starving. Lori was about to pop and any moment we'd have a screaming infant to take care of. It was terrifying, knowing that we had no place for her to safely give birth, or any food to keep that baby healthy. The skin over my ribs was thinning by the day and it wasn't just me going through the hunger.
Carl's once full cheeks had sunken in under the bone and his eyes were constantly wide in desperation. Rick rarely spoke. He and Lori were at an impasse over the murder of Shane, and she could hardly stand to look at him. Draven and Jax were at the wits end with one another. They weren't fighting, but rather angry at the world, and their frustrations were misplaced time and time again with insults spoken through gritted teeth.
Daryl was still heavy on the silent treatment. Every once in awhile I'd get a glare in my direction, but besides that he had yet to let his words be meant for my ears. I gave him space, but I always stood nearby to watch his back in case danger found it's way to us.
I gave up on trying to start conversations with him a few months back. It was no use, and I refused to let myself look desperate for him when I wasn't. If he decided that whatever we were was over, that's fine. It meant my focus could return back to where it belonged.
But it didn't. It never did.
A thousand thoughts at once, and nine hundred of those were Daryl.
His hair was longer now. Darker, messier. His arms had grown stronger and his stomach more solid with muscle beneath the fading leather of his vest. He wore a new crossbow, we had raided a survival surplus and the only smile I had seen on his face since the farm being overrun was when he laid his eyes on his new and improved weapon of choice. I had found a sword of my own there. It was a dagger that found itself comfortable in the sheath I wore slung across my back. It was long, heavy, hectic and meant to kill. Hell, it took me awhile to get used to, but after taking my mania out on trees I had carved my father's name into I was basically a professional.
The sound of Carl's clambering footsteps tore me from my rampant daydreams. I looked up at the hallway and awaited his eager entrance. Only a moment later did the boy come through with a can in each of his hands. He plopped down on the ground near his very pregnant mother and began opening them in silence. I squinted my eyes, trying to read the labels from across the room.
It was dog food.
No wonder the rest of the group stared in silence just like I did. Rick moved towards his son without a word, angrily taking the can Carl was fighting to pry open and tossing it into the wall in a show of the ever thinning hope he had. I grit my teeth and turned to look out the window, a quiet way of avoiding the circumstance we found ourselves in.
