Daryl definitely smells worse than walker corpses at this stage. Sorry, buddy.

He's a little baffled, listening to the younger man talk. Yeah, it's a painkiller, doesn't seem to be something worth getting out— he wonders if the guy is a naturalist, or just a bookworm, though after getting a closer look at what he's doing to the tree, he knows it's more of a bookworm situation. He's trying to decide if it's worth it or not to correct his technique, one hand halfheartedly raised like he's going to say something, when the question comes.

A fair question from Reid, but it still makes Daryl look away. Already sticking out like someone who doesn't belong, and it's been five minutes. He still feels like he's reeling, in a way, the edges of his vision slightly glassy from exhaustion.

When he turns back, he keeps his gaze lowered. One shoulder shrugs.

"Didn't feel like dying."

He's good outside, but he's not a wild animal. He wasn't going to make it much longer than anyone else without shelter, food, and a break.

"...My people are good people. Just been rough, for a while."