Grace might be overly generous. There comes a point when she has to weigh the odds of failing against the status quo - and right now, that means she's looking at deciding between the possibility of her death or the possibility of Hershel's. She'd rather eat glass than see those round cheeks of his go hollow, and it's clear enough that their supplies are running short.

And hell, Daryl's managed it before. She's not about to challenge him to a footrace, but she'd be surprised as hell if it turned out she was slower than someone who took up smoking in his teens and didn't manage to break the habit.

She glances at the pickup truck and back at Daryl, giving a nod. Seems like a decent possibility, if she can get on top of the cab in time - depending on how big the boar is, she's not convinced it won't be able to catch her in the truck bed. And if it doesn't work, she'd better hope he shoots quick and hard. "All right. You're gonna have to take my bow with you - it's gonna slow me down."