Daryl takes another pit of raw rabbit in his mouth, and licks the blood off his fingers in a pointed gesture. He could probably stand to put on some weight, he knows, so he's eating.

Sometimes, everything ends up a competition with Daryl. Not often, but it happens. It's the safest way to express care.

"Did that back home," he says with a shrug. He hands Wash the rest of the rabbit, and sets about skinning one of the squirrels. "Hunted, trapped." Fought, killed. But he doesn't say it.