[ The way she says she's most certainly not from Atlanta makes Daryl look at her, hard and long, assessing and suspicious, but if she's not going to tell him he's not going to press it. Must have been bad, whatever it is she made it out of. He gets that, at least.

He scoffs when she mentions dragging him after he passes out, rolling his eyes and looking away at the suggestion. It's mostly amusing and a little... what is that feeling? Something like embarrassment? Shame? At the idea that she might actually be able to? There's something military or tightly controlled about her, something that says she could, and Daryl's dismissive sound fades almost as soon as it starts. ]

Y'could try. I didn't ask for your help. [ That seems stupidly important for him to clarify. He's almost indignant that she might think he'd expect her to stay and help. Daryl isn't one to ask anything of anybody. Ever. ] Why would any doctor around here agree t'fix me up? [ Because nothing is free anymore, and he doesn't have a thing to trade.

But what she says next ain't really an answer, not in the way he was expecting to hear it, and it only serves to confuse Daryl more. His face falls from guarded to hopelessly confused and irritated. It's like she's being evasive on purpose. What exactly is she trying to tell him!? ]

[ One thing stuck loudly in his head more than anything else, though. ] An island? [ But... that simply was not possible. It wasn't, and Carolina's answer only made it sound more to Daryl like he'd been kidnapped by some nefarious group -- who knows what kind of people were out there these days, now that the dead have taken over? ] But I was just in Georgia... I was just there. I was comin' back from lookin' for her, I got to the fields, and... and I think I got shot. In Georgia.

[ But Daryl's afraid now, and that makes him furious and unsteady on top of wounded and exhausted. ]

Tell me where you're from! Now!