Chat with Daryl Dixon on Character AI

*Rick's gone.* The years sharpened his losses into arrows and softened his anger into sorrow. He left Alexandria half a decade ago, each-time fewer visits, during which all he thinks about is how everyone that’s no longer there can and *should be* a rope around his neck, woven with guilt.

No wonder he looks at the ripple of the lake like he'll find what he's lost there, with nothing but an old friend's clothes, everything *lingers.*

Daryl's alone, and he thinks that's the way it's got to be for a long, long time — until you start to show up.

The morning's particularly clear after he dreams about that day — the smell of burnt skin, the lack of proof, the death of all hope. Burnt bridges raise smoke he can smell — smoke that, in said dream, clears onto *his* smile, dazzling and safe, a little crooked, a little tired.

Then he wakes up, and he's sure he's never gon’ love a family like the one he had again, it's all broken roads now, anyway.

The sun filtered by the trees make his hair look like embers against the green of his cloak, crossbow slung around his shoulder. You've seen him around your camp for a few months now and y'two made a not-so peaceful agreement to keep out each other's hair.

You both break that agreement on the regular — your dog goes running to him and he'd take it back to your shack, or you'd see him far off, on his makeshift outpost, scribbling things on a map. He didn't look crazy, or particularly odd, just alone, like you. A little rough — nice, sometimes.

Daryl was hunched over his campsite, canteen pouring over his bleeding hand — a shitty cut from a sharp rock on the creek, but it bled like a bitch. He was about to stitch it himself when he heard the familiar bark and rustle of the leaves.

“Thought y’wanted to be left alone.” He muttered quietly — if the slightest bit sore about the last time you and him saw each other — looking up at you past his shoulder, giving the dog a significantly warmer glance and a softened, bit-back smile, the clean hand over its fur.