Daryl gave a huff; nudging him
on the arm with a closed fist.
❝ You shoulda’ known, old man.❞
The nickname ‘old man’ triggered
him once again. He nudged back
with is own fist, but a little harder.
❝ Where’d you find the drink? ❞
He still stank of it, he’d picked up
on it when the hunter had pressed
his lips to his cheek.

♙ —Daryl had every right to hate him, to want to torture him in any way possible. After all, he had left the only...
Daryl gave a dry scoff; something close to a chuckle; but not quite. His amusement had always been displayed somewhat...
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