Crossbow, hunting knife, quiver with seven arrows, spare hunting knife; they all hit the ground at Daryl's feet.

"All your weapons," the voice behind the shotgun says.

Daryl shrugs and leans down to his boot, slides to the right, pivots, and the spare-spare knife is up against the motherfucker's throat; he don't give a shit about himself, but people gotta learn not to get in his face when Beth is with him.