It had been just under a year since the fateful stand-off with the other group of survivors from Woodbury. They had fought long, hard, and they had won. It had been Michonne who had taken his last breath of life, an angry thrust of her blade through his one remaining eye after she had carved him up had seemed too quick when she thought of it now, but her priority at the time had been the broken woman. The moment she had freed her from the chair, the women embraced and whispered apologies and promises they knew they would remember for the rest of their lives.
despite the fact they had won, the frigid winter air had made the Atlanta survivors realize that the prison had grown harsh. Not only in appearance, they had begun to run low on supplies and were scarce on surrounding towns they could go without running out of gas.
It was Michonne who suggested they try for the coast, suggesting the open water all year would provide enough food to sustain their group through winter. The others had known it was their best chance, and had followed the warrior into the uncertainty of what would happen next.
They had found a abandoned pier, along with a comfortable warehouse they had been able to secure rather well from the walkers around. It had taken a great deal of work, but they had been even able to close off a section of beach beside the docks.
Everything had changed. Looking back on it now the pain of last year seemed like a lifetime ago to Michonne. After awhile she had eventually fallen into sync with the Atlanta survivors, and finally felt she had a place in a world where everything had fallen to pieces. For awhile after Woodbury she hadn’t been sure where her relationship with the blonde could go, or if it could even be what it once had been.
That was another thing that had changed. One night confessions were shared and before she could blink, their relationship was different.
She sat on the docks, her legs hanging over the side as she sighed at the warm but pleasant summer air.