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Presley moved quietly through the town, Daryl right at her side. The two looked like some sort of scene from a movie, both of them looking throughout Woodbury for the open places that the walkers had used to invade. Her hair was up once again, and Daryl had shaven with a razor he’d found in the house in the morning. They both wielded their weapons of choice: a bow and a crossbow.

“I bet the gate is open.” Presley said, shifting the bow in her hands. Daryl looked down at her, nodding slightly in agreement. He obviously wasn’t up for friendly conversation. She remained quiet for a minute,

“Let’s trade weapons.”

“What?” Daryl asked, stopping in his tracks, eyebrows furrowing. She nodded, moving to hand him her bow and an arrow.

“Trade weapons, just for now.” She said, motioning for him to take it. After a moment of hesitance, he took it and handed her his precious crossbow. She weighed it by swinging her arms, nodding to herself as she looked it over. “Horton Scout… Nice.” She said, approving of his weapon choice. He cocked an eyebrow at the younger girl, chuckling.

“Well ain’t you just the little expert.” He said, reaching over and ruffling her hair.

“My dad had a similar one. Better shape, of course, but it’s all the same.” She said, admiring the impressive piece. She ignored his soft scoff, and watched him pluck the string of the bow.

“Do ye even know how to shoot a crossbow?” He asked curiously.

Presley paused. “Yes, but I haven’t in many years.” She admitted softly, raising it up to eye level. She was surprised when Daryl laid her bow onto the ground, coming up behind her. She tensed automatically, but relaxed when his hands ran along her arms, steadying her.

“Yer stance is good, ye just need to adjust yer arms.” Daryl instructed, running his large hands along her arms and hands until she was adjusted right. She did just as he instructed, relaxing under his surprisingly gentle touch. His hands slipped under her arms, lifting the bow just an inch. He stepped back to admire his work, nodding to himself. “Maybe ye won’t die after all.”

She laughed lightly, watching as he picked up her own bow and tested the string with the arrow, coming up beside her and urging her to continue forward. The two continued down the road. Presley chatted quietly, often forcing Daryl to answer on occasion by nudging his shoulder with her elbow. Even though he acted annoyed, you could see the adoration in his eyes every time he looked at her. The love between them was as plain as the noses on their faces.

A walker was spotted on occasion, and together they took turns taking them down. They never came in more than groups of two or three, so they didn’t have any problems.

At last, they found the root of the problem. One of the two gates had been opened, and now they found that the other one as open as well. Daryl closed it off, Presley standing guard from the inside. She handed him the crossbow when he returned to her side. “Here, that thing is bloody heavy.” He laughed as he took it, handing back her own weapon.

“Weakling.” He teased. She turned her head towards him, dramatically slow.

“Excuse me?” She said, placing her hands on her hips. “Would you like to repeat that?”

He took a step towards her, looking down at her. “Weakling. Would ye like me ta spell it for ye too?”

“You’re pushing your luck, Dixon.”

“I ran out of luck a long time ago, Scott.” He retorted, shoving her shoulder playfully so she stumbled. As he expected, she caught herself, grumbling incoherent words. He didn’t even bother asking her to repeat them, he pretty much knew what she had said. Amusement sparkled in his eyes, not even having the ability to pretend to be mad at her.

Presley threw back her head, looking at him with playfully narrow eyes. Happiness, happiness was a sight that wasn’t often seen between many people… Except for right now. In spite of everything, all their losses, all their pain… Presley was a light in the world. She’d gone through many terrible things, and yet, she still willed herself to smile and at least pretend to be joyous. This affected the world around her in ways that nobody could comprehend. Everything seemed a bit brighter with Presley around.

However, this peaceful happiness was short-lived.

A soft voice caused both Presley and Daryl to stop, each turning towards the gate, squinting to look between the cracks of the two doors. A face framed by golden locks of hair. The girl suddenly moved aside, being replaced by a much taller, much darker figure.

Much to Daryl’s disliking, Presley approached the gates, and pulled them open without a second glance. This revealed Mika and Tyrese, as well as a small bundle of joy cradled in his arms. She motioned for them to come in quickly, looking back and forth as the walkers wandered closer and closer to the gate. The three of them entered the depths of Woodbury, leaving behind the dangers. Relief clouded their faces almost instantly.

Tyrese dropped to his knees, exhausted. Daryl swept forward and took the small newborn from his arms, cradling it as Presley knelt to help Tyrese. Mika clung to Presley’s arm, horrified by the recent events.

“Tyrese?” She asked softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her movements were slow and timid, waiting for him to react badly. Much to her relief, he didn’t.

The air became dense when he rolled up his sleeve, revealing a gash in his arm. She froze when she recognized the type of wound.

He was bit.

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