The footprints in the snow offered a wealth of information if one knew how to interpret it. Daryl already knew what to expect — an adult man a bit slighter than himself — long before he laid eyes on the person in question.

The deer carcass he'd been carrying had been stashed nearby, making his approach from behind almost entirely silent as he took care to step only in the already compacted areas of snow, timing his movements to coincide with Rick and the stranger speaking with each other, to further mask the sound of his soft footfalls. His hunting knife was drawn and he kept his other arm raised slightly higher than waist-level, in preparation to deflect any attack that might come his way.

It was in this manner that he appeared behind Ellis, ready to disarm or take him down as needed. His eyes were trained on Rick's face, just waiting for his signal, breath pluming in the frigid air at regular intervals. He was calm; this was a familiar, well practised routine.

Thus far in the arena, they'd been very fortunate and hadn't been forced to use many of their first aid supplies, so some could comfortably be spared, provided the request was genuine. But that decision was ultimately up to Rick, and Daryl wasn't yet of a mind to argue on the stranger's behalf. Best to speak with him a bit more first.