The Woman at The End of The World. (Daryl Dixon)

fiftyfive.

The knife lands into the tree trunk with a thud. Smirking, I limp over, pulling it free. I've been at this for roughly two hours. I'm not exactly 100%, yet physically; I've been forcing myself into training, preparing myself for what is it to come. I refuse to be put on the sidelines because Owen got his panties in a twist and decided to lash out like a toddler throwing a tantrum for getting the wrong color cup. He will not win. He cannot win.

Once the war is over, I will make it my mission to hunt him down to the ends of the world and serve up my own personal plate of revenge. His death will be slow and painful. He hurt me slowly, over and over for a long time. He will get the same treatment.

Negan cannot win, either. Guilt swims to the surface at that thought. He did save my life. He knows my alliance is with Rick and my family. He cannot fault me for defending them with everything in my soul. I did warn him that I was coming. He knows what I'm capable of. I won't have a hard time bouncing back like I did the first time when Owen had almost killed in cold blood; he just caught me with my guard down.

My fingers trace the blades of the throwing knife, lost in thought. Anger and guilt swims through my veins. I might die in this war. Owen's lackies will be gunning for me once all the bets are off. A part of me believes Negan might not attack me for this retaliation on our end, as he admitted about harboring a soft spot for me. But he will still want to punish Rick, so my head will no doubt be put on the chopping block. I firmly believe it should be me instead of Carl. He's just a boy. He deserves a long, full life. I've had enough shit handed to me in life. I will go down for him so he can live. I don't regret my decision.

Negan's soft spot for me will be the cause of his own death if I don't go down first. He better swing first, or I'm gunning for him myself.

I walk back to my starting point, throwing several knives over and over. While my hands are busy, my mind is off somewhere else, formulating my own game plan. Negan will believe I'm down for the count. I will give that to Rick as an advantage. I hope what I have up my sleeve will give Rick the upper hand he will need. Anything could go wrong; but I can come out and blind side Bundy.

I had returned to the house Daryl and I had stumbled across when he was trying to teach me the art of tracking. I've been here for two days now. I needed time to recoup without anyone asking invasive questions. My first day I spent it sleeping and resting before I put my body through the ringer. When I finally got off my ass, I searched out herbs to speed the healing process and to numb the pain. I don't trust the pain meds Negan had sent me off with. I refuse to take anything that might harm my baby. Though, running into a hail of bullets is kind of contradictive.

I concocted a paste like lotion that I could lather over the cuts and bruises, helping with the pain and healing. The perks of being wiccan and learning under Hershel, I muse. I tossed everything together, hoping for the best. After an hour, I noticed a huge difference in how my body was reacting to it. Though, I still look like I got my ass handed to me. The bruising is all but gone. It's just the cuts I'm concerned about. I almost died by an infection once.

I glance over at the tree, grinning. Every single blade landed even while I was lost inside my mind. Abe was right; if I wanted Jesus dead that night, he would've been. I'll make you and Glenn proud and avenge you guys; I promise.