Chapter Text
Daryl sang softly as he cleared out Cell Block A, the tune one that the Dixon Patron God had taught him a long time ago.
"You must go where I cannot,
Pangur Bán, Pangur Bán,
Níl sa saol seo ach ceo,
Is ní bheimid beo,
ach seal beag gearr.
Pangur Bán, Pangur Bán,
Níl sa saol seo ach ceo,
Is ní bheimid beo,
ach seal beag gearr.
You must go where I cannot,
Pangur Bán, Pangur Bán,
Níl sa saol seo ach ceo."
As he finished off the last of the dead a glint of something flashed in the weak sunlight of Cell Block A. Daryl sniffed the air warily, free to do so thanks to his isolation in the oldest of the Cell Blocks but not a thing was out of place.
Slinking forward revealed the flash to be a simple carved figurine, the wood so light grey it could almost be mistaken for white and a single smudge around the right eye, as though someone had picked it up with charcoal dusted hands and left only that mark. The wolf, for wolf it was, had one paw off the ground where it had been lost.
He frowned, pressed his magic into every corner of the room, and shrugged as he picked it up off the ground thinking Carl or Sophia might like to keep it.
The resulting flare of light had Daryl very unceremoniously dumping his crossbow on the ground and... disappearing.
The clatter of the weapon on concrete drew no attention at all.
Daryl groaned as he sat up, every inch of him stiff and sore like he'd cast one of the spells in Nanna's Grimoire. He was no longer in the prison... Or even near his pride. He spotted the innocent-looking figurine not a foot from him and glared at it. Covering it with his motorcycle rag, he tucked it away into his back pocket as he slowly stood.
Wherever the hell this thing had brought him, he needed to get back. The pride might miss him. Daryl Shifted, hoping to get an idea of where he was with scent. None of it was familiar; not a single scent right or even from Georgia. He cursed the figurine again as he flared out his magic.
Thankfully, or maybe not, there were people nearby. Six Shifters and one that felt like a Shift but wasn't entirely. Daryl was thoroughly confused. How could someone feel like one but not be a Shift? He padded through the underbrush carefully. It wouldn't do to get caught in his second skin if they weren't friendly. Climbing took him a moment but he panted as he curled his paws under him on the sturdy branch.
The only reason he'd be tired was if that carved toy had tapped into his magic. Daryl didn't doubt that in the least, especially when he was still feeling the effects. He had enough to test his environment without looking though, which he was grateful to have.
When the Shifters wandered into the low, grassy clearing, Daryl's mouth opened as he scented the air.
Two were familiar with the remaining five unknown. The thing was—The familiar was impossible. Rick (not quite human, not quite a Shift) and... himself as an incredibly well-done mimic of the figurine. Maybe it was the other way 'round, considering the figurine hadn't had the scarring this one did; like Daryl did, covered as it was in thick, spotted fur.
Part of him wanted to laugh because even in this place, wherever it was, he still kept his spots.
The other part realized with a sinking sensation that he did not belong here.
Watching the cubs gambole made Daryl settle down on the branch, one paw hanging perilously close to the leaf line of the tree he was in. One of the cubs strayed from the group, heading for the edge of the forest where Daryl could hear the dead shuffling. He watched her carefully as she ducked back into the grass and out again with a happy yip.
Pup, c'mere. Daryl's breath hitched in at the sound of his own voice coming from the pale wolf.
Yes Papa. She started heading back when a dead one broke the tree line far too close to the cub. Papa!
Beth, I need ya t' run.
A second dead one swayed forward and Daryl, in spite of or because of his illogical response to cubs in danger, lunged from his perch with a roar. He reared up on his hind legs and lashed out with his claws, crushing the skull as he went. It fell as the head rolled, Daryl turning to the other one and caving in its skull with another swipe.
He watched the forest with a wary golden gaze as he planted himself over the wolf cub, snuffling at her fur to see if she was bitten. Daryl sighed in relief as he found none. He nudged her softly with his muzzle, rumbling as he nosed at her ribs.
Cub, 'm not gonna hurt you. He murmured as he moved so that he was between her and the forest but not between her and the very worried pale wolf headed their direction.
Daryl took a deep breath and waited for the question he knew were coming.