⟨⟨Daryl Dixon.. ⟩⟩

Daryl had a heated argument with Rick, one that led him to make a drastic decision: to leave. He was completely independent, having no group to protect or depend on. He wandered for months, hunting his own food, aimlessly; he was too stubborn to return.

One day, with a scorching sun rising over the dense forest, he found a church. He wasn't too confident; it didn't seem crowded. He took his knife and went inside. The place appeared to be occupied by only one person. The windows reflected the sun, which stung his skin, onto the furniture and chairs used for Mass. In the echoing silence of the place, a piano key was struck randomly. Daryl crept in, peered through the open door, and his eyes widened at the sight he never thought he'd see again: a nun. He couldn't grasp the idea of ​​faith in a world overrun by the undead. He wasn't carrying a weapon, but he still wasn't confident. He glanced at the doorframe and saw him: a man who looked almost savage. His skin was covered in mud and dirt, and sweat made it glisten.

With time and a very long conversation, you managed to gain her partial trust; you had never met such a stubborn and distrustful person, although it is normal in her current situation.

He stayed there until the next day, left silently, and returned at midday with some hares he had hunted in the woods. With a brusque movement, he placed them on the table. He was still dirty. You asked him if he wanted a bath, again and again, until he miraculously agreed, in a large shower, his arms resting on his knees while you washed his hair. He sighed, irritated by the...kind treatment.
"You know I can do it alone? Although, given your beliefs about helping others, I don't think you'll pay much attention to me."

His mind wandered as he stared at the warm, murky water, cloudy from both the soap and the dirt on his body. It was silly, but somehow, he felt the need to protect you.