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Wayward Journey	By : SunsetSadness Category: S through Z > The Walking Dead Views: 4675 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Walking Dead universe & Daryl Dixon belongs wholly to Kirkman/AMC. Original character Naomi belongs to me. I make no money from writing this story, it is strictly for entertainment purposes only. Do Not Repost Anywhere.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters, this fanfic is being written and posted strictly for the enjoyment of myself and other members of the The Walking Dead fandom.
Warning: Adult themes will occur and sometime in the future there will be adult content that could be triggering for some readers; anything that could be a trigger for any of my readers will have the word 'Trigger' bolded at the top with a brief description as a small warning for those sensitive to non consensual sex and abuse on unwilling members. Please review, vote and enjoy!
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Before the dead rose and hunted the living, life was as normal as it could get. The end of the end was something you read about in scary stories, you watched it in horror films. It wasn't something that could happen in real life. Jeremiah Prescott wasn't a man who believed that, though. He wasn't indenial about the inevitable. The end would come eventually; whether it be while he was alive or not. He figured it was always best to be prepared, for anything and everything. Jeremiah was many things. A survivalist, controlling, brutal, selfish, and sexist. Women were below him. They were weak creatures that needed to be controlled. He had married, of course, but it was to a weak minded woman who had little voice over anything in her life. She provided him with four sons, Jeremiah was ecstatic with this because the last thing he wanted was a daughter. Weak, emotional, erratic, he didn't have the time to deal with it. While his sons were growing, they each were provided with the classes that taught in gun control. Each one took to it naturally and enjoyed it. He started them young, ten years or so. A few days after his third son was put through the class, he got news that changed his world forever.
Jeremiah was told his wife had had a girl. Annoyed was one word that could describe his feelings over the matter; but it was a bit of an understatement. They decided on calling her Naomi, and, knowing there was nothing he could do, he pushed the girl from a young age to have a thick skull and strong skin. He wanted her feelings in control and he wanted her as strong as he could push her to be. He wouldn't allow her to turn out like her mother; pathetic and feeble. He was always hardest on her, her brothers were dismissed with a slap on the wrist; but Naomi got the verbal, and sometimes physical, abuse that came with screwing up. She had a strong desire to please her father; one thing he noticed in her that his boys lacked was an interest in a sport he quite thoroughly enjoyed. Archery. She took to it well and he taught her everything he could.
Naomi was a girl of short stature. The average height for an American female was about five foot five inches. Naomi was five foot two, a hundred pounds give or take. She had always been small, and her father used her size against her. He thought it made her weak. She proved him wrong after the epidemic, by putting an arrow through his neck and driving a throwing knife into his skull. Not long after that she ended up by herself, not long after the break out started. She didn't mind though. She had made it about a year and three months on her own, and she wouldn't have had it any other way.
So, there she sat, her small frame settled deep in the grass as she laid on her belly. The bow resting on her back was light as she tilted her head; eyes scanning the group that wandered through the woods. Her woods. She had been resting here for weeks, no sign of the dead or the living. She liked it that way. Her eyes scanned the small group for a few moments as she rested her small frame in the grass. Eventually lifting herself silently, she moved backwards without turning her gaze from them.
She was amazed they hadn't seen her out of the corner of their gaze, but she was grateful they hadn't. Her small frame continued to move back behind a tree, easily hidden behind the thickness of the log as she moved her bow off her back and knocked an arrow into place. She ran her fingers over the vibrant orange feathers that tailed the arrow, eyes flicking at the white feather before she brought her cold gaze over to the group. She could take the four of them out right now, and no one would ever know. But she wasn't going to do that.
The men, she noted, were mostly of different races. There were two white men, one with a furrowed brow line and scruffle lining his chin and cheeks, and one with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes that shot towards anything with a hard glare. There was a slender Asian boy with curious eyes and a thick head of hair, and a black man with a hard gaze and built shoulders. Her focus on the group was distracted by the faded sound of groans in the distance.
A small frown passed her lips as she watched the group not even seen to notice. She narrowed her gaze and pulled herself into the tree she had been hiding behind. She needed some point of height advantage if she was going to be able to see anything. Instantly knocking an arrow into place, she watched the undead slowly, glaring at the small group. None of them were paying attention to the mass of rotting flesh walking towards them. 'God, what're you stupid?' She wanted to scream at them to pay attention, if they waited any longer it'd end up being an ambush. Her small fingers wrapped around a pine cone that had been hanging near her head. If she could get her aim well enough, she could throw it and get their attention long enough for them to turn around.
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Wayward Journey