The forest greeted them with silence.
Not a dead silence—but a living, watchful one. The kind that punished haste. Daryl moved first, light and soundless, as if every root and shadow were familiar to him. Harry followed just behind, matching his pace, copying the rhythm, the pauses between steps.
Dale walked third. He didn't try to disappear—he tried to pay attention. His eyes moved constantly, forward and back, sometimes stopping a heartbeat before the others.
Andrea brought up the rear. She wasn't as quiet as Daryl yet, but she'd learned where not to step and how to keep her distance.
"Slow down," Daryl whispered without turning. "The woods don't like people in a hurry."
They stopped almost at the same time.
Movement in the brush to the left. A faint crackle.
Dale spotted it first and raised his hand.
Daryl nodded.
He lifted the crossbow. The bolt flew clean.
The deer shuddered and dropped with barely a sound.
No one celebrated.
Dale approached from the side, careful, making sure it wasn't getting back up. Only then did he nod.
"Clear," he whispered.
Daryl knelt and pulled the bolt free—and froze.
The tip was intact. Not bent. Not cracked.
He ran a finger along the metal.
Too good, he thought.
"All good?" Andrea asked quietly.
"Yeah," Daryl replied. "Just… well made."
He wiped the bolt clean and slid it back into his quiver.
They moved on more cautiously.
They spotted the boar almost together. Daryl stopped them with a raised hand. Andrea shifted slightly to cover the flank, watching for movement behind them.
Harry drew his bow.
The arrow flew straight.
The impact was sharp and precise. The boar ran a few steps, then collapsed.
"Keep your distance," Daryl whispered as they approached.
Harry pulled the arrow free.
The tip was bloodied—but straight. Whole.
"Bone," Dale said softly. "You hit bone."
"I know," Harry replied.
The arrow didn't break.
Daryl said nothing, but the thought settled firmly.
I need more like these.
The Incident
The wind shifted suddenly.
Harry caught the smell first.
"Hold," Daryl whispered.
Two walkers emerged from the trees. Slow, steady. Then a third—from the side, too close to Andrea.
She stepped back without panic.
"Back," Harry said sharply.
The spear struck first.
A controlled thrust to the head. The body dropped.
The second walker turned toward Dale.
"Left!" Dale warned, retreating.
Daryl's bolt hit the walker in the temple.
The body fell. The bolt didn't stick.
Daryl pulled it free in one smooth motion.
"Damn…" he muttered.
The third walker took a step forward.
Harry's arrow went through its eye.
Silence returned all at once.
"Everyone okay?" Dale asked.
"Yes," Andrea replied, exhaling. "Thanks."
"Move," Daryl said. "Before the smell draws more."
Return
The camp reacted the moment they appeared.
People stood. Watched. Took in the sight of the game—and the faces of those who'd brought it back.
"You did it," someone said quietly.
"This was teamwork," Dale said immediately. "Quiet. Careful."
"And it works," Andrea added.
The tension eased—not into celebration, but into relief.
This hadn't been luck.
Repair
Later, Daryl approached the RV with two bolts. One had a thin fracture near the base.
"This one cracked," he said. "Not bad—but cracked."
"Let me see," Harry replied.
He sat down, laid out his tools, and worked without rushing. Cleaned the metal. Studied the fracture. Added fine markings over the old ones, smoothing the edge.
Daryl watched in silence.
The metal didn't squeal.
Didn't resist.
A few minutes later, Harry handed the bolt back.
"Try it."
Daryl weighed it in his hand.
"Solid," he said.
"If any break," Harry added, "don't throw them away.
Bring them to me. All of them."
"Even if there's barely anything left?" Daryl asked.
"Even then," Harry nodded.
Daryl nodded back.
"Got it."
He walked away with a new understanding.
For the first time in a long while, weapons didn't feel like something that vanished after a fight.
They felt like a resource.
End of Chapter 20