He wouldn't have thrown it if he hadn't had absolute faith in her catching it, but it's still nice to see. Something like a smile hangs on his face, before flickering into disappearance under cloud cover.
"I dunno," Daryl says, skipping rungs on the latter at a time, landing flat-footed on crumbled macadam. "What'll make your sister believe that's what we were doin' the whole damn time?"
"Anything." She's not gonna catch Beth lying to her, and if she does, Beth'll make sure Daryl's part stays out of it. (Well, she'll try, anyway. When Maggie's pissed off, it's like trying to tell a hurricane which direction to spin toward. The hurricane isn't about to listen.) "If we were tracking, that'd take all day - can't do much if we can't find any tracks."
Nothing but walkers walking. Or...shambling, she guesses.
Daryl hums. She's right, it doesn't need to be impressive, but for himself, he'd like the catch to be something a little bigger than rats or a squirrel. There are boar and deer in the area, but both of those would leave them skulking into the night to bring back. Maybe if they got a lot of squirrels...
"Let's check traps," he murmurs. "You can re-set 'em and help me find 'em."
He knows where they are. But she should be able to figure it out by the prints leading to them, his and others.
"Are there any nearby?" Beth figures the answer has to be yes, since this is where he's been hunting in general - and that's why she's already looking toward the ground, heading toward areas that aren't old blacktop. If Daryl makes her figure it all out herself, she's going to have an easier time checking the dirt.
"Yup," Daryl says, and points north. It's the only hint he'll give her. There are prints on the tarmac road, but they're harder to find than most, and he's in a kindly mood.
He'd been surprised, when they'd gotten this far up north, how regular the game was. From his upbringing, he'd figured the north was an entire different world.
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"I dunno," Daryl says, skipping rungs on the latter at a time, landing flat-footed on crumbled macadam. "What'll make your sister believe that's what we were doin' the whole damn time?"
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Nothing but walkers walking. Or...shambling, she guesses.
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"Let's check traps," he murmurs. "You can re-set 'em and help me find 'em."
He knows where they are. But she should be able to figure it out by the prints leading to them, his and others.
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"Do they have quail up here?" Her voice has shifted softer, curious.
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He'd been surprised, when they'd gotten this far up north, how regular the game was. From his upbringing, he'd figured the north was an entire different world.