"We don't have soup," she tells him, smiling a little behind the mask. Same food here as in the mess tent, pretty much, and the march of groats and various meats has been pretty unchanging.

Getting Daryl to chill out, even a little, is clearly going to take more than a bedroll and a promise of tea. Beth sits down for real, cross-legged, on the ground beside him and watches him with a sympathetic eye. "I'll do the traps tonight. I promise."