Then Daryl seemed to get going and continued listing them off. "There are frogs too. Lots of them by the ponds.
They're easy to catch. Just don't know if we can keep them alive. The croaking might get kind of loud...
There are plenty of mice too. Woods mice are cleaner than city mice, and you can eat them.
Oh, right, snakes too. Some of the non-venomous ones have pretty good meat. I know how to catch them alive, you just gotta be careful..."
The more Daryl talked, the more absorbed he became. He even mimed the motion of catching a snake, until he noticed Leah's expression.
On that face of hers, usually as cold as frost, the corner of her mouth twitched slightly. A flicker passed through her eyes, something that seemed like a mix of speechlessness and amusement.
Daryl's voice stopped dead. Only then did he realize, a little too late, that he might have said the wrong thing.
He looked at her, his cheeks seeming to heat up, and awkwardly tried to salvage it. "Uh... I mean... squirrels are fine. Frogs, mice, and snakes... maybe not so much."
Daryl lowered his head and stared at the toes of his boots, wishing he could swallow every word he had just said.
Holy shit!
What the hell was he doing, talking to her about raising frogs and snakes?
She had to think he was some kind of complete savage freak now.
Watching Daryl go from talking so easily just moments ago to being completely at a loss, Leah felt that strange feeling inside her grow even stronger.
This man clearly had the skills of a top tracker and hunter. He was calm and sharp on the battlefield, yet in private, just exchanging a few words with her made him so... clumsy and easily embarrassed.
Leah suddenly remembered how, back at the training ground, she would occasionally sense Daryl looking at her.
That gaze was different from the awe the other team members showed her. It was more focused, more... hidden.
She had not paid much attention to it at the time, treating it as observation between people in the same line of work.
But now, combined with his reaction, a vague thought crossed Leah's mind: [Could he... have a crush on me?]
The thought surprised Leah a little, but she did not dislike it.
She had spent years among rough mercenaries and was long used to direct advances or jokes between teammates.
For example, before the apocalypse, back when she was still with Sentinel Tactical, someone from another team had confessed to her.
And not long after that dance before the apocalypse, Mike had also started treating her a little differently. It was not the same as the simple camaraderie they had shared before, though Mike might not even have realized it himself.
Later, once the apocalypse arrived, everyone became busy with construction and survival, and everything returned to normal.
But someone like Daryl, who got so nervous from just a little contact that he could barely speak properly, was a first for her.
Leah found it... rather interesting.
"Squirrels are worth trying," Leah said, the cold distance around her seeming to ease a little. "Forget the frogs and snakes."
She paused, looking at Daryl, who still did not dare raise his head, then added, "Thanks for the suggestion, Daryl."
With that, she did not stay any longer and turned away with brisk steps.
Only after Leah's figure vanished into the dusk did Daryl slowly lift his head and let out a long breath. His back felt almost soaked with sweat.
He slapped his own forehead in frustration. "Damn! Daryl Dixon, what kind of stupid shit were you saying..."
But deep down, a tiny spark of joy rose because of Leah's final "thanks."
Daryl sat back down on the wooden barrel and picked up his crossbow, but he could no longer focus.
That brief conversation kept replaying in his mind, along with Leah's eyes, which had seemed to carry the faintest hint of a smile. Or maybe he had imagined it?
He felt that this woman, who looked like an iceberg, seemed... not quite so impossible to approach.
As Leah walked away, she thought back to the rich changes in Daryl's expression, from nervousness to excitement and then frustration, and found it somewhat funny.
This Daryl was far more interesting than she had imagined.
Maybe she could observe him a little more from now on.
...
Rock Fortress's training ground had never been so noisy or full of life.
The expanded Defense Force was being put through repeated tempering.
In the close-quarters combat training area, Mike stood with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze sweeping over every reservist's movements.
He did not need many words. His battle-tested aura and powerful build were pressure enough on their own.
The veteran who had originally been responsible for demonstrations had willingly stepped aside, because there was now a far more effective instructor in the middle of the field: Wagner.
Wagner was correcting a recruit's dagger grip.
"Keep the web of your hand tight against it. Extend your index finger. Don't just grip it like you're trying to crush it. Use your wrist when you apply force, not your whole arm swinging all over the place."
His voice was steady and even, each instruction perfectly clear.
"Wow, this guy... he's like a robot," one recruit whispered in awe.
"But he looks pretty damn good, doesn't he?" another replied.
Wagner's instruction undoubtedly improved the overall efficiency of the training.
He could spot tiny mistakes at a glance and correct them in the most direct way.
However, after Wagner demonstrated a complicated knife-disarm and counterattack technique, flawless as his movements were, they still gave off a faint sense of being too standard.
That was when Mike moved.
He strode into the middle of the field, his voice booming. "Everyone, watch closely! What Wagner is teaching you is the foundation that keeps you alive. It teaches you how a knife is supposed to be used! But on the battlefield..."
Mike suddenly looked at Wagner. "Wagner, use that move from just now. Attack me."
Wagner's eyes shifted slightly. Without hesitation, he thrust the dagger straight toward Mike's ribs, the attack fast and angled viciously.
Mike did not block. Instead, the instant the dagger neared his body, he took a hard sideways step forward and drove his thick shoulder and arm straight into Wagner's inner range.
His left hand snapped out like lightning and locked around Wagner's knife hand, while his right elbow stopped like a heavy hammer just in front of Wagner's throat.
The whole exchange happened in a flash, violent, direct, and full of raw force.
"See that?" Mike released him and growled at the stunned recruits. "In a fight to the death, there are no routines!
Sometimes, you have to use bone to crash into his blade, and use your life to trade for his!
Wagner teaches technique! What I'm teaching you is how to stay alive!"
Wagner stepped back half a pace and nodded slightly, a trace of gravity passing through the depths of his eyes.
He had to admit that Mike's fighting style, built purely on real combat experience and a powerful body, held terrifying force in a true melee.
As for Wagner himself, after retiring, he had become an arms dealer and had gone years without real hand-to-hand combat. It seemed he needed to start training seriously again as soon as possible.
"I learned something, Mike," Wagner said calmly.
Mike clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to make the force clear. "You're a good teacher. You can teach them to be more precise. But I need them to understand that the battlefield isn't precise. It only cares who lives and who dies."