Daryl did as he was asked when he was handed the pieces of concrete, after pulling his crossbow back over his shoulder and moving it around to rest against his back. He wouldn’t have compared himself to a professional baseball player by a long shot, but he did manage to swing the pieces pretty damn far. So when he stepped back to watch her rip through them, he found himself looking back at her and putting his hands on his hips.
“You know, for a chick from the 18th century, you shoot alright,” he said. In fact, better than alright. He was starting to wonder where he could get his hands on an automatic crossbow like that. That shit would be really handy in a fight against a horde of walkers, especially while cornered.
He knew his crossbow couldn’t pull off what she had just done, and he found himself wondering once again what he could do about that. Finally, he picked up a short, discarded plank and offered it out to her, taking a few steps back.
“Straight up,” he said, resetting his crossbow. Once it was back at the ready, he motioned for her to throw it, and when she did, he let it get barely above her head before he fire a bolt into it, the force from the impact shooting it a few feet behind her. If she didn’t duck, it would have grazed the top of her head, and he was relatively satisfied with his shot.
“Gotta let me try out your piece one of these days,” he said, walking past her and to the plank. He bent down to retrieve the arrow carefully, doing his damnedest not to bend it anymore than it was already bending. His stock was running low, and this maybe hadn’t been the best use of his limited supply, but damn if it wasn’t relaxing.