29; A GUIDING HAND (season nine, episode fourteen)
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SACRIFICE WAS IN Judith's blood, a rite of passage that came with the name she carried - it was the very thing that had given her life. So, naturally, she'd been intimately familiar with it before she could even walk or talk.
She understood more than people - Freya and Michonne - liked to give her credit for. Although, it wasn't an underestimation on their behalf, not exactly. Deep down, Judith knew that they had her best interests at heart, she just hated being treated like a little kid who couldn't comprehend the world's complexity.
She could be every bit as strong and capable as her father and Carl were; if they'd give her the chance to prove herself. But, no - Freya shut the gates and closed them off to absolutely everybody. The circle of communication they'd once had twisted and bent until it was a mere square with invisible bars trapping the residents inside. No trade and no friends became the new normal, and the Alexandrians progressed through each day on autopilot, completing the same mundane routines.
Judith was sick of it.
The world was right in front of her. If she climbed up on top of the guard's post she could see miles of country - unexplored land that her feet itched to discover. Not to mention the land that she knew. Hilltop, The Kingdom. . . The places that homed people her father had raised her to consider family. She'd spent the better part of five years yearning to know how everybody was getting on, on some occasions, she'd even found the courage to ask.
But it was to no avail. Freya remained resolute in her refusal. The word 'No' came from her chapped lips so often that Judith often found herself wondering if turning stir-crazy had wiped her sister's vocabulary of everything but that god-awful single syllable.
In the night's zephyr, Judith's loose hair ruffled. Cold air tickled the exposed nape of her neck, evoking a shiver from her peony lips. She pulled her knees into her chest where she sat on the dock and wrapped her arms around them in a half-assed attempt to draw some warmth into her body.
The brown irises that she'd inherited from her mother reflected the moonglade resting upon the rippling water of the lake, it was a truly mesmerising sight, but not enough to quell the curiosity running rampant in her mind. Slow and discreet, she turned her head inch-by-inch until she was directly facing her companion.
Daryl was resilient to the cold - probably a side effect of his caveman-like living situation. His exposed arms were folded over the many gaping tears in his pants, palms concealing his skinned knees from her whilst simultaneously giving her a front-row view of his remarkably swollen knuckles.
Judith craned her neck a little, catching his weary stare. His baby-blue hues were both familiar and foreign to her at the same time. "I heard that Freya almost died. Was it really that bad?"
