Three days. It'd been three days since Daryl had brought Presley back, and she'd been unconscious the entire time. Some of the bruises on her body softened in color and many of the scratches had already scabbed over, but the girl still looked broken and frail. Mud was still caped in her hair, no matter how many times Carol had used her free time to come in and brush it. Her face had been washed, now revealing all the scratches and marks that lined the porcelain skin.

Daryl kept watch most of the time, only stopping for a few hours every day to sleep and eat. Nobody knew why he acted like this for the girl. Carol suspected that he was acting like this because he wanted to save her, unlike the time he had tried to save Sophia. But nobody truly knew, and nobody dared to say he couldn't do it.

Zeva never left Presley's side. For a few minutes every few hours she would go outside to use the bathroom, but other than that, the dog never moved from her spot. Mika and Lizzie brought her food and water, but she wasn't near as loving to them as before. All her attention was trained on her peacefully sleeping owner. This disappointed the girls, especially since Daryl always ushered them out of the cell.

It was on the fourth day that Presley began to stir. Zeva barked to alert everybody in the cell block, so soon there was a crowd gathered around the bed.

Unfortunately, the girl didn't wake up. Her eyes fluttered to reveal a splash of radiant blue and she groaned, before falling back into her deep slumber. That happened multiple times that day, so Hershal suspected she would wake up any time.

And she did.

On the morning of the fifth day, those bright blue eyes opened, but only to see Hershal, Rick, Daryl, Carol, and a young boy she didn't recognize. Within moments she was requesting food and water, starving after her few days with no food. They waited patiently while she ate and drank before interrogating her.

"I had just parked on a hill to check out the map." Presley began, closing her eyes as she fought to remember everything. "There was a man. I thought he was a roamer, so I went out to kill him... But he was human." She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Somebody hit me over the head and I blacked out. I don't remember anything else." She admitted, opening her eyes to state blankly at the walls. Zeva crawled up onto her owner's lap, whimpering. "The last thing I remember is running through the forest... There were half a dozen roamers chasing me, and I was weaponless, tired, and hungry..."

"Are you sure that's all you remember?" Rick said, scratching his beard curiously, "There's obviously a big space you're not remembering."

"That's all I know. Honest." She insisted, scratching Zeva behind the ears.

"Well," Hershal intervened, "You will stay in here for a few days. You got a couple broken ribs." He paused, "Something tells me that you won't stay in bed, however, so keep the activity on a limit. No lifting anything heavy, no running, no holding any guns or bows or whatever the hell you use, other than knives."

Presley forced a small, timid smile, "You'd might as well stop now, Hershal." She said. "I don't listen to doctors."

"I'm no doctor." He announced, "I am a veterinarian."

Presley cringed when she laughed, the pain in her chest almost unbearable. "I'll leave soon... I've probably already been a bother."

"Nonsense." Carol said. "You're welcome here."

Presley shook her head, leaning back against the pillow. Oddly enough, she was still tired and longed to close her eyes. "The group life isn't for me."

- - -

"I don't think you have to watch her anymore." Carl said, leaning against the bars. Daryl looked at the young boy with a frown. He knew he didn't have to watch her, but he didn't want the girl getting up and wandering. The last thing they needed was to have her hurt herself again. He couldn't stop her from leaving in a few weeks time, but he was sure he could at least keep her in bed for a few days.

"Thaz alright." Daryl said, laying down the knife he had just been sharpening. "There's enough meat n' shit for now."

Carl laughed a bit at that. "You're worse than a boyfriend, Daryl." He said, earning a small glare. "Well you are! Look at you, you haven't left her side since she got here. Who knew you were such a softie to pretty women."

"Shut up, Carl." Daryl muttered. "I'm not a softie towards anything. Especially her."

"It's the truth, Dare." Carl said, grinning. "What are you gonna do when she leaves?"

"Act like nothing ever happened." Daryl said, saying what he believed was truthfully.

Carl snorted and pushed off the bars, "Doubtful."

Oddly enough, the young boy was right.

___

"Here, let me help you." Carol said as Presley slowly made her way out of the cell. She was about to decline, but Carol moved her arm over her shoulder before she could say a single word.

"Uh, thanks." Presley said, only allowing a bit of her weight to be supported by the woman. A few unfamiliar faces turned and looked at her, frowning creasing their faces. Every now and then one would offer a timid smile, but it never reached their eyes.

Then again, there wasn't a whole lot to smile about anymore.

"Where were ya heading?" Carol asked as she continued to assist her down the steep steps. Though the women stood about at the same height, Carol was more broad and sturdy. If she had been taught differently, the woman really could be dangerous. Presley was more slender and feminine, but you'd best not doubt her. She relied on stealth and speed- not so much strength.

"Hershal said I could wash up in the showers, and then he would patch me up." She said between breaths.

The elder woman nodded, and they continued their silent steps to the shower. Once they reached the shower, Carol showed her the complex controls and handed her a bar of soap, shampoo, and a towel. Presley gave her a thankful nod before beginning the slow, painful process of stripping.

The water wasn't hot nor cold, but it still felt like heaven. She stayed and scrubbed a month's worth of grime and dried sweat off of herself. Dirty water rolled off her body and circled around until it found the drain. A shower was a luxury. Most of the time she found herself stripping and wading through a freezing cold stream with a bottle of cheap shampoo and a crusty bar of soap.

Her hair was the biggest task. She had thought about cutting it so many times, but she just couldn't quite let it go. She had always had long hair, because that brought out the tender part of her father, oddly enough. Every morning before school, he would pull it back into a braid. It took a lot of practice, but soon he had mastered the art of braiding. He often told her that she had the same hair as her mother.

By her freshman year she had grown out of those braids and mostly just left her hair down, but she never cut it.

So, she suffered through the yanking and pulling and managed to pull out the tangles with the help of some conditioner and her nimble fingers. Soon enough, Presley was as clean as she was gonna get. She stepped out and changed into her old clothes. Thankfully, they only smelled a bit musty and old.

When she emerged from the showers and came back to her cell, Hershal was already laying out bandages and stuff for her rib cage. He gave her an apollogetic smile, "You're going to have to take your shirt off... I can't do the bandages over your shirt, unfortunately."

Surprisingly to Hershal, Presley didn't have a problem with that. Well she did, but she didn't complain. It wasn't like she had anything to hide. She was skinny and battered and bruised, but a layer muscle tone was prominent. She was in shape, that was for sure. Then again, Hershal sensed she had never been one to set camp and stay for too long at a time. She probably did a lot of moving around.

He wrapped the bandages tightly around her ribcage, carefully making sure she wouldn't be able to move and hurt her ribs even more. She didn't mind the stiffness, knowing that she would be able to move freely in just a few weeks.

"That's about the best we can do." Hershal, pulling away and admiring his work. "Try not to thrash around too much or anything."

Presley snorted as she tried to move her torso to the side. "I don't think that's possible."

"Good." Hershal said, patting her on the shoulder. The blue-eyed girl looked at him with a small smile. The smile was thanks enough for the old man. He simply dipped his head and shuffled away, leaving Presley to stand in the cell by herself... With Zeva's presence, of course.

She was just gathering her shirt from the ground when she heard a male voice, "Hey, Hershal-." She stood to see Daryl standing in the entrance, his eyes narrowed into slits. SInstead of showing anger, she smirked and pulled her shirt shakily over her head, smoothing out any wrinkles. She then crossed her arms over her chest.

"He just left." She said, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him with amused blue eyes. She had forgotten how much she missed people- even hormonal men.

The man said nothing, simply grumbled to himself and shuffled away, leaving Presley utterly alone. She sat down on the edge of her bed, sighing. Zeva made her way over to her owner, laying her head in Presley's lap. "Hey girl... I missed you." She said softly, staring into the wide brown eyes of her best friend. Presley closed her eyes, allowing her black waves to fall over her face. They sat together in a comfortable silence, reminiscing in their own memory.

"You have such pretty hair." A voice said, bringing Presley out of her peace. She looked up to see a young girl, probably only a few years younger than herself. She looked quite innocent, blonde hair falling over her shoulders and wide blue eyes. She had the same eyes of Hershal.

In response, Presley simply shrugged, "Gets in the way most of the time, but I just don't have the heart to hack it off." The blonde smiled at that.

"I'm Beth." Presley opened her mouth to say her own name, but the young girl intervened. "I already know who you are."

Presley pursed her lips and nodded, looking down at Zeva before looking back up at Beth. "If this situation were any different I would be a little freaked out right now." She admitted with a grin.

Beth laughed. It wasn't broken, like everything else in the world. It was soft and shy. "Hershal is my dad. I was one of the first ones to know about you." She said proudly. "Anyways, he told me to bring you some clothes. I don't really have anything your type, but we are the kind of the same size... So here you go." She awkwardly handed Presley a pair of denim jeans and a simple t-shirt.

"Thank you, Beth." Presley said, accepting the clothing and nodding her head. Her and Beth were nearly the same size, actually. Presley stood just a few inches taller and had more feminine curves to her body, but they were pretty close. They were both a bit underweight. "I'll be sure and return these before I leave."

The younger girl frowned, "Why are you leaving, anyways?" She asked, genuinely curious. "You're safer in a group." Presley set the clothes off to the side and glanced at Beth, surprised by her question.

"I've been doing perfectly fine out there on my own." She informed the blonde, sitting down and pulling her hair over her shoulder. Beth shrugged, looking down at her hands sheepishly. The boldness she had just possessed was now gone. "Besides, whether or not you're safer in a group all depends on what state that group is in."

"It's just confusing- ya know? I mean, you just got here, and now you're ready to leave." She said, slumping against the wall of Presley's cell. "We don't get many teenage girls, but we sure got a lot of boys."

Presley laughed, "Most girls would prefer a bunch of boys rather than girls. Less competition, you know?" Beth smiled a bit at that. "My father raised me to be independent and selfish." Presley admitted. "Though, I still find myself helping people more than I ignore them."

Beth nodded, trying to understand where she was coming from. "I guess I kind of understand." She said softly. "Anyways, I'll be going. You can keep the clothes... If you want." Presley smiled as the small blonde scampered away, and she quickly pulled on the clothes before another male could walk in on her. Both items of clothing were tight, but that was the way she liked it. Less things to grab on to. She was just tucking her pant legs into her boot when Carol stumbled into her cell.

"Hey darlin', do you have any cooking experience at all?" She asked.

Presley smiled. "A little."

"Good, than come with me." Before she could decline, Carol was practically dragging her out of the cell by her elbow. Presley looked back helplessly at Zeva, who saw no harm in the situation. She pranced behind Presley happily, wide brown eyes taking in her surroundings. Such a good guard dog.

Carol pulled her outside and released her, but Presley was forced to stop due to the blinding light. She squinted and used her hand to block the sunlight as she stumbled after the elder woman.

"People are complaining that our meals are always the same- watery soup and beans. Why don't you prepare it while I go fix the water situation? Everything you need is right there." Carol motioned towards the baskets of vegtables and a shelf of seasonings. The mere sight made Presley's mouth water with hunger.

"Oh, and there's some more meat left over from the squirrels Daryl brought back earlier, on the counter. Go ahead and use that." Carol said before scampering away, following by an African-American man. And thus, Presley went to work. She used the large black kettle to create potato soup, just like her father used to make it. Somehow she made do without cream or milk, and the soup came out tasting quite alright.

Using the meat, she cut it into small chunks and fried them, before tossing them into the stew. She added more seasonings, at least the ones she recognized. The soup was thick and she knew it would be quite satisfying to those people, if all they really did eat was watery stuff.

Cooking for more than one person brought her joy, oddly enough. Though, she definitely didn't want that job on a daily basis.

"Whadya think yer doing?" A southern drawl questioned, threateningly. Presley wiped her hands on a rag and turned, looking at Daryl with a cocked eyebrow.

"Carol asked me to make soup so she could go... Well, whatever it is that she did." She explained simply, folding her arms over her chest.

"Let me guess, you poisoned it?" Daryl sighed, walking towards the kettle and inspecting the bubbling soup.

"Oh yes, yes I did." She rolled her eyes and dipped the wooden spoon in, bringing it to her lips and taking the soup into her lips. "Now I'm gonna die in just a few seconds, you just wait." She taunted. Daryl's expression darkened at her sarcasm.

"You better watch your tone, missy." He snarled, stepping away from the girl. "I can send ye right back where I found you."

"Do it." Presley urged. The man simply shook his head and marched away, ignoring Presley's last comment.

"Rule of survival: don't let redneck assholes run you over."

- - -