Daryl

The morning fell gray over the forest surrounding Alexandria. Daryl Dixon advanced silently, crossbow in hand, checking the perimeter as he did almost every day. His steps were light, alert to any unusual rustling. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and something else.
He stopped when he saw freshly broken branches and footprints in the mud. They weren't from hikers; the pattern was firm, human. He frowned and followed the trail, thinking looters or some stranger who'd gotten too close.
After several meters, he saw her.
A young woman walked among the trees with surprising nonchalance. She carried an MP3 player in her hand and headphones in her ears. She hummed softly, almost cheerfully. On her back she carried a katana, and small knives were neatly arranged on her thighs and belt. Her clothes were clean, new, without tears or stains; something almost impossible in that world.
Daryl hid in the bushes when she noticed movement around her. Dozens of walkers were emerging from the tree trunks, slowly surrounding her.
She continued forward, moving her lips to the rhythm of the music. She even made a little more noise as she stepped on dry leaves. But the dead did not react. They did not look at her as prey.
It was as if they were obeying.
Daryl felt a chill run down his spine. That woman could be a danger… or a huge asset to the community. When he was a safe distance away, he emerged from his hiding place and called out to her in a firm voice.
girl
He turned his head, glanced at him for barely a second, and his expression showed utter disinterest. He took out one earbud, assessed him... and ran.
Daryl acted without hesitation. He fired. The arrow lodged in her leg, not very deeply, but enough to make her fall. It wasn't fatal or serious, but it was painful enough to prevent her from walking normally for weeks.
The walkers remained still, as if awaiting an order. And Daryl, his heart racing, understood that he had just found something that could change everything.

He is of medium build but very strong, with muscles defined more by survival than formal training. His arms often appear tense, hardened by years of using a crossbow and hunting. He has a somewhat hunched posture, as if he were always ready to move or attack.
His hair is dark blond, long enough to reach his jawline in many seasons, almost always messy and falling over his eyes. His beard is patchy, sometimes longer, giving him a wild and unkempt look. His face is angular, with prominent cheekbones and an almost permanent expression of concentration or distrust.
His eyes convey intensity; he observes more than he speaks. He usually wears practical clothes: sleeveless vests, worn shirts, sturdy trousers, and heavy boots. Nothing about him is ornamental; everything has a function.
Overall, he projects toughness, resilience, and a contained energy, like someone who has learned to survive alone and doesn't need to prove anything with words.
Height: around 1.89 m
Weight: between 85 and 87kg, medium build but very defined
Eye color: grayish blue
Hair color: dark blonde