Who: Daryl and Mercy, later Sookie What: accidents in the woods When: morning of the 13th Where: Wilderness then Prison Warnings: language, violence
Daryl was down a roommate and he felt less than ever like he wanted to be in the prison. Spending time with Sookie the night before had been refreshing, but it wasn't enough to quell his uneasy feelings. He and Matt hadn't seen each other often but he was a good guy...still people made mistakes. Who was Daryl to judge for mistakes? Sometimes his entire life felt like one. He was truly sorry for the loss that many people were feeling, he just didn't feel like showing it. So he did what he always did when he didn't want anyone to catch on that he gave a shit, he went off on his own.
Part of him didn't want to return to the prison today. He had his crossbow, the sketch of his brother that Vera gave him, and some other important trinkets. He hopped on his bike and made his way to the front gates, once he was out he'd speed down the road. It would look bad from the outside, but no matter what he was doing at the end of the day, he had an idea in the present. When he had been out visiting Selene he noticed something strange. Footprints that he would swear belonged to a coyote. The reason it was in the area didn't matter to him, he couldn't help but think of it as a problem that needed to be taken care of. Or at least a challenge.
There was no way he was going to let a predator like a coyote stay alive in their woods, so close to the prison and the cabins. He cared too much about the raiders going out and the people like Vera that came out to practice to allow a predator to run loose. It was bad enough that there were walkers crawling all over. If nothing else they didn't need to compete for food against another creature. Everything pointed to the fact that he needed to take this thing out of the equation. If he didn't come back to the prison at all, they could consider the deed his last favor to them. An act of goodwill.
He stopped his bike and left it on the side of the road along the way, treading into the woods on foot to pick up the trail from before. It was a much quicker journey when he wasn't slowly creeping on foot from the prison gates. It didn't take long for him to pick up a trail and start to follow it. A hungry and tired coyote wouldn't be going very far in the woods like this, not when there was a prime patch of game just nearby.
Before too long he managed to stumble on more recent signs of the beast. He brought his crossbow down from around his back and aimed it carefully ahead of him, slowing his pace. The hunt was on.