Much of this is written deliberately crude in grammar for a real Daryl POV feel, but it's 2am and I've been working Caryl muses out of my head for a few hours now, so if you see/read something that makes absolutely no sense, please lemme know via private message or review so I can edit.

Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories embellished on a little more than the show may do. Not for any profit.

Diana, by MissMishka

They'd tried to teach her how to use a gun.

Idiots.

She hadn't the aggression to wield that as a weapon. Not to mention, jumpy as she was, she'd likely shoot herself or someone on accident when the recoil of the first round firing startled her from concentrating on the fact that she held a deadly thing in her hands.

Andrea, sure. Lori, yeah, came natural to that lioness in the way of protecting her kin. The farm girl, Maggie'd likely be able to show 'em all how it was done with a shotgun, but she held herself back out of respect for her pa.

Daryl had to admire the fact that even with the world gone to shit, there were people damned dumb enough to risk their fool necks for something like "respect." Weren't his place to try changing anything, though, so he kept quiet as was his usual way.

But they were on to something with the idea of teaching the shakier ones how to handle weapons. Just that a gun was too hard and harsh for the likes of Carol.

She needed soft and quiet. Something with that same kind of grace he noticed about her in those more fanciful moments of his that Merle had tried to beat out.

Lying in his tent after Andrea left, bored out of his fucking skull from the inactivity when the others were all out looking and tapping an arrow restlessly against his knuckles, he had nothing but time to let his mind wander on topics like this. His eye was caught by the sight of her once again crossing the camp with a tub of wet laundry balanced on her hip. As she passed him, she graced the youngin, Carl, with a reflexive smile that erased the worry from her face and replaced it with a maternal glow.

Daryl looked hastily away from the scene outside the screen of the tent and stilled the tapping of the arrow. Thoughtfully, he stroked the carbon shaft and remembered bits of the myth of Diana, Mistress of the Hunt. Wasn't much he'd cared to take from schooling, but an odd piece like that had taken hold. Mostly because he hunted and when winter loomed cold ahead, the lure of deer meat to fill his belly and hide to use for warmth were enough to have him paying respects to whichever God or Goddess might grant him a successful kill.

Just another way in which they were kindred, he realized with a soft scoff. She was an archer, too.

The crossbow wasn't right, though. Heavier than she'd need; its compact design and spring loading were geared towards making a kill. Her mind didn't work that way, seeing a weapon and wanting to use it for possible harm of another thing. He'd have to break her of some of that, but he rather liked her still having that gentleness in this place.

Inspired and glad for something physical he could be doing, he lunged from the tent with a mission in mind. Every eye in the group that hadn't gone out in search of Sophia instantly snapped on to him as he straightened from exiting his shelter.

"Fuck me, can't a guy take a piss!"

As a lie to deflect their attention, it worked because it was a need he did have. Andrea laughed at him, but Carol blushed and damned near dropped the wash as she hurriedly averted her gaze from him. He'd have smirked at the reaction had he been as cocky as Merle, but being Daryl he instead turned away from the other watchful eyes with the faintest hint of red darkening his own cheeks.

Glenn had been managing to gather some choice pieces of firewood from the eastern property line, so that's where the hunter headed. His back felt naked without the protective weight of Betty hanging across it, but he'd left his bow behind. No one would have bought his nature calling excuse had he wandered off armed with it. Good ol' Bucky'd have to be enough for this little outing and Daryl was pretty sure that even the knife would go unneeded.

His plant knowledge had come some ways since his youth, a necessity to prevent another itchy ass episode, but trees weren't a strong point. Mulberries were good for what he needed and he pretty sure that's what he saw along the edge of the clearing. Taking nothing for granted as to how long their stay there would last, he gathered all the possibilities he could after a quick duck behind a tree to relieve himself. He used the hunting knife to cut a few fresh twigs from a pine tree, knowing it less than ideal, but figuring he could make it work in a pinch.

Satisfied with his collection he turned to head back, momentarily surprised to find he'd ventured a ways from the edge of the clearing and stunned to see Carol standing behind him. He had a childish urge to throw the sticks at her and bolt, but he was too genuinely curious about whether she'd managed to sneak up on him 'cause he was thinking too hard or if she maybe had a bit of stealth in her, too.

"Glenn and Carl gathered plenty this morning," she said with a confused look at the bundle under his arm. "The boy's first chore of the day is gathering."

"Ain't for burning," was all he cared to say as he pushed past her to head back to the camp.

"At least let me carry them. You're bound and determined to rip out Hershel's work on you."

"Don't mother me, woman," he snarled when she tried to take even the smallest twig from his load.

It didn't matter that his side was drawn tighter than a drum in pain, he wasn't the type to double over with it if there was enough breath in him to push the agony aside. She was making too damned many efforts to coddle him and it wouldn't do. He couldn't explain it to her and hated that he even wanted to at the way she withdrew from him at the harsh words. He knew she was most likely baffled by the Cherokee Rose one day and asshole jerk the next, but it didn't surprise him much that she just accepted the change as if it were her due.

Goddamn puppies keeping at your feet to get kicked then giving those damned sad eyes to leave you feeling lower than dung beetle shit.

The unkind thought quickened his pace back to the others and he knew, without her speaking or making any noise about it that she was keeping right up with him. This moment was going to make his gift rather more awkward than it had been bound to be in any instance, but he couldn't keep his head outta his ass sometimes with this woman.

He deftly made three passable bows in the privacy of his tent, using twine for two and fishing line for the third. That was the one he felt she'd go for, which is why he'd strung it different. About eighteen inches long, it looked like a light tug on the twig or line would set both to breaking, but he knew neither would snap for a good while yet.

Kind of like her, he grinned as he joined the group around the fire and settled in to whittle points on the ends of the limbs he'd selected for arrow duty.