"He-" Daryl grimaces, and his face colors briefly with an old anger. "He didn't go after families. Only orphans'n stragglers."

He sits, remembering that incident, the kid's bodies strewn up like dolls, and nobody noticed for so goddamn long because it wasn't their kids disappearing. In the years since, Issaquah's gotten extremely protective of people without people, but he'll never quite forgive them for having to learn. There's a reason he didn't settle there, for all the bug-out bags and blinds he's got scattered in the woods around their territory.

But Abby asks a question, and it's a fair one. He lets out a sigh, and tries to think on better things. The rare times Merle praised him. The days out and alone in the woods. Taking down his first kill, all by himself-- it was a squirrel, but it was his, and he ate it raw.

"Georgia," he says. "In the mountains. You're looking at genuine redneck trash."

Do people even say those things anymore? Will Abby know what they mean? He's curious to find out.