She nods, sheathing her knife next to her hip, and for a minute or two, they walk in silence. It's not hard to get out to where there's only trees to hear them--one of the nice things about living like this. There's always someplace you can be alone, if you really want to be.

"It sounds crazy," she starts, her gaze steady on the snow before them. This is the kind of story that's easier to tell when she's moving, especially lately; the thought of death, her death, doesn't hold as much weight that way. "But when somebody dies--" you know dying, right?--"they don't really...stop. Not anymore. Somebody dies, and as long as their brain's still in one piece, they get back up again. But it's not the person you knew. It's just a body."

A really gross body, the kind of rotting, shambling nightmare that makes it easy to stay awake when it's your turn to keep watch, but Wash doesn't need the details. In deference to Daryl, she's skipping everything that might really get them in trouble here. (The pathogen, mostly. She's skipping the pathogen.) "And it doesn't stop, no matter what you do, unless you do something to its brain. That's why you always aim for the head. Nothing else counts."