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ELLIE LEAPED UP in the small tent she shared with Daryl and Coda, beads of sweat sitting upon her soft forehead. Nightmares lingered in her mind as an omen — a reminder. Death was always around the corner, the mere stench of it was abundant. Avoiding death was impossible; avoiding loss was entirely a fabrication. Safety appeared but to have simply ceased to exist. Where could anyone have found true safety; the chance to sleep at night without the wandering shadows lingering; the whispers filling every room until it was only fear they could breathe. Ellie had never felt more unsafe in the entirety of her lifetime.
The nightmares only served as a reminder that a world with no order was hardly a world. Ellie's hope had depleted, deeming itself close to extinction, without the minor reward she had gained in Coda. Her daughter would forever betoken her to all that was right in the world - a chance for the youth that would one day rule the world they had been so desperately attempting to build for them.
Each painful milisecond that Ellie remained alive over the nine months of barely living that had rolled by, with each day became expectantly more difficult than the last, and Ellie's hope had begun to falter rapidly. Daryl noticed her unusual hopelessness, and had vowed internally to protect her through her wobble. Not everyone had been designed with the mental capacity to handle the apocalypse. She was the embodiment of strength, but it wasn't strength that created survivors. It was endurance.
With no words spoken, Daryl slowly reached out with his long arms, and snaked them around her thinning waist. He held her in the warmth of his arms, close and softly, until she sunk into his embrace, with not a single word needing to be uttered. They remained enclosed in their embrace through several peaceful moments, until Daryl's gentle tone disrupted the silence.
"Nightmare again?" Daryl asked, breaking the silence between them. He pulled her close enough for the scent of strawberries in her blonde locks to waft through the air.
Ellie sniffled, and sighed, "Yeah. I'm okay."
Nine months had proven countlessly to be daunting to anyone, but for survivors it had been the epitome of brutality. Not one moment during the nine months had proven to be remotely considered good. The weather had mercilessly changed so often that they were left brutally fatigued once spring had rolled by. The winter had proven to be their biggest enemy, with most of their camp gear destroyed by the inevitability of loss. The rain on their skin was simply the embodiment of the tears they had wasted so long ago. The world belonged to the dead. There was no turning back.
They were running out of time.
Upon enduring the harshest winter known to Georgia, the group had successfully scavenged any remaining food supplies they could discover to last them through the spring that had already proven safer than winter. Rick had enforced harsher restrictions for scaveneging, without vehicles it often left the group in a disorderly mess, when their supplies proved to be too heavy. Rick's enforcements had caused uproar to erupt in the group, with many of the members offended at Lori's extra supplies due to her condition, but Rick remained certain in his leadership.
