"Sorry." He's so fucking tired. Rick is talking to him, asking what, where, how--he nods, pays attention. "A shit-hole cabin. Nothing inside it but broken down furniture and a trap door." While he's talking he drops to sit on the floor with his knees drawn up but still alert. "I'll mark it on the map, but there's a lot of the dead around it. Got stuck under it for..." He pauses, frowning. "Don't know how long I was under it. Sorry, I--" He doesn't even really know what day it is. He doesn't tense when he talks about being under the house, but something flits briefly across his face. "Guns were there. I waited until the dead left."

It's a lot all at once. "Came back here right after. Had to go slower with the weight."

He scrubs a hand over his face once before looking up at them again - his eyes settle on Rick a moment as said debriefing comes to an end, but it lingers on Daryl. He doesn't seem disoriented, just tired and strained. "Sorry," he repeats for a third time. Like he hasn't brought them things they so desperately need.

(That's not what he's apologizing for.)