Home. Daryl sniffs, a cold scoff into dry air. Home is wherever Rick and Maggie and Glenn and Michonne are, and he wishes he could bring them here, not the other way around. But he knows he can't. He knows better than to think everything's all going to work out.

And, more important perhaps, he knows better than to get poetic with the lady's question. She means the physical place, and he isn't going to change her mind on that.

"This shithole's a goddamn paradise," he mutters, "can't think of a better place to die."

He tries to make it unclear, in his tone, whether or not he's speaking in sarcasm. He doesn't want anyone else to know the way the Earth died screaming. They don't deserve to.