Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step.
In his thoughts, he went: denial my ass. During her maneuver of attempting to catch a ride on his back. When she questioned the new place of rest they had discovered, he shrugged as best he could with the weight preventing a full reaction.
“Dunno.”
The redhead slid from his back and turned in a full circle to take in the area as a whole. After a moment, Charlie turned back to him.
”I certainly hope so. I’m tired of having to move constantly. I wanna settle down.”
What she said sunk into mind and suddenly, she was grateful for the lack of light; her face was flushed from embarrassment. Still, she didn’t withdraw the comment or correct herself.
Daryl brushed off the comment just as quickly as she slid off of him to prance around, and be distracting enough for a few moments before reality set in again. Crossbow firmly in hand, and loaded, he scanned the area for threats.
“Don’t get yer hopes up yet.”
His eyes scanned over everything. Every door, every window, every possible entry that someone could get in or out of. He made mental notes of what to board up, and thought about where he would find the wood to use. Eventually his mind became filed with a long grocery list of to-do’s, he blocked out everything else besides that.
