𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 | Daryl Dixon

29 | SMALL WORLD

A golden glow hung from the sky, barely reaching the overgrown blades of grass that crunched under their boots, as Tori and Daryl walked down the open fields to the three wooden crosses sticking out of the ground. Fresh mounds of dirt lined up by the fence, the brown a gloomy contrast to the green grass or the pink sky.

Tori stood back, her eyes flicking between each of the graves. Only one of them actually containing a body – T-Dog. She hadn't seen him, for which she was oddly relieved. Torn apart by walkers after being bitten already, Daryl and Rick had found what was left of the good man. Not enough of his body left to even turn. The other graves belonged to the two women. Lori and Carol. The former was gone, and Carol was never found.

Tori's heart clenched as she turned her attention to the angel wings on Daryl's back when he stepped forward. Pulling something from his pocket, he held the flower in his hand. A Cherokee rose, curling green stems still attached, petals still flawlessly white from when he'd picked it that morning.

He gently set it down on Carol's grave, moving some dirt around it to keep it in place without tarnishing its pureness. When he stood straight, Daryl placed his hand on the wooden cross for a moment, a silent farewell to a woman who had become someone he depended on, related to more than he thought he could. They were more alike than they seemed, both of them from broken homes where abuse was endured with no escape. Until the world ended, and they were free. He'd miss her.

Turning around, adjusting the crossbow glued to his shoulder, Daryl's eyes found Tori's. Her long hair was completely loose, moving with the cool dawn breeze. Glowing a deep bronze as it reflected the suns yellow rays. She was a beauty that he couldn't help but admire when the rest of the world was so ugly. When he was down, one look into her eyes could pick him back up.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she reached out for him. Daryl's hand found its home in hers, their fingers interlocking in a perfect fit. Made for each other like two parts of a jigsaw. The touch sent tingles up his arm, the warmth travelling through his veins, straight to his heart.

"I'm sorry," Tori whispered into the air. Her irises swam with unshed tears, refusing to let them fall.

Daryl squeezed her hand, "Me too."

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

The answer should have been a straight no. So much loss, it was a given. But Daryl's strength, his ability to push through anything, left him nodding his head. "Gotta be," he replied.

They walked back up the prison, deciding not to look back at the memorial of their dead. Hand in hand, they headed up the stone steps back into the cell block where the others had woken up with the sun.

The mood inside wasn't much to talk about. The group were silent, sitting around the common area, all of them holding their portions of breakfast. Beth held the baby in her arms, switching between rocking the sleeping girl and eating her own breakfast.

Tori sat on the stairs, Daryl a few steps behind her. His legs were spread while he rested back against the banister. Tori leaned against one of his knees, head rested on his thigh.

"Everybody okay?" a gruff voice called.

Rick stepping into the room from the metal gate. He looked tired. His shirt was fresh, and his face was washed. He must have come back during the night to change and left immediately without anyone noticing. Even clean, he was a haunting sight to behold, an empty look behind his bloodshot, tear-filled eyes. Their usual light blue was decimated by darkness and pain, the usual glimmer of hope simply vanished from his face.

"Yeah, we are," Maggie softly replied.

Hershel asked the broken man, "What about you?"

"Cleared out the boiler block," Rick uttered, his mind elsewhere.