Sliding his knife back into its sheath, Daryl pulled back the branch he'd hastily thrown across the bike and walked it up closer to the edge of the road. Propping it back onto the kickstand, he secured his crossbow to the back, then paced a few anxious steps away, scrubbing a tired hand across his face.

The road was already clogged with traffic making its way out of the city, in cars and on foot. They needed to move, before some poor bastard got it in their head to try and hitch a ride, or worse, to try and steal the bike.

Instead, he turned abruptly on his heel, striding the few steps between himself and Theon, and drew him into a fierce hug, his face tucked into the crook of Theon's shoulder.