Michonne opened her eyes to the cool light of early morning. Last night she fell asleep cuddled up next to Rick, his arm heavy and comforting around her shoulders. This was the second time in as many days. A small smile tugged at her lips at that thought.

Sometime in the night she had stretched out on one of the old sleeping bags. She heard Rick get up and stretch.

Michonne turned her head to the side.

Rick's worn boots stepped past her, his movements slow and careful not to disturb Michonne or Carl.

Dimly, his words from last night drifted through Michonne's mind again. His voice had been quiet and sad.

"Even after everything we've done...I don't know how we're going to get out of this one...I really don't."

It had been a whisper, a tired admission of fear...the very real possibility of defeat.

Michonne rubbed her eyes to clear them and looked again.

Rick's boots took one more step forward, then another. He was right at the edge of the wooden platform overlooking the herd of agitated walkers. He shifted his weight, standing on the precipice, the tips of his boots edging into the air.

Panic gripped Michonne's heart.

"RICK!!!" in an instant, she was on her feet and leaping across the distance between them.

She wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled hard, stumbling backwards.

"Wha-" Rick fell backwards, landing more or less on top of Michonne.

"What in the hell," Rick exclaimed in shock, "Michonne? What are-"

At the same time, Michonne demanded, "Rick! What are you doing?!"

Rick frowned in confusion, "Uh, I was gonna take a piss."

It was Michonne's turn to say, "What?"

"I have to pee," Rick stated, eyebrows raised in bewilderment at Michonne's erratic behavior.

She glanced down and, sure enough, his zipper was already undone.

"Oh," Michonne blinked in realization, her panic dissipating.

"You were going to pee on the walkers?" she asked, incredulous, thinking that it was unusual for Rick to do something like that. He didn't even like to kill them unless absolutely necessary.

"You got somewhere better in mind?" Rick retorted, then added, "Hold on!"

He wasn't letting her off that easy, "What did you think I was doing?"

"I don't know..." Michonne muttered, moving to get up and brush herself off after their ungraceful tumble to the floor.

Rick grabbed her arm before she could stand, forcing her to look at him again, "Did you think I was going to jump?!"

"No! I didn't think that!" she said, looked away in exasperation, then met his eyes again, "Rick, I swear, I didn't think that for more than a second! You could have been sleepwalking, anything! I don't know."

She sighed, "The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was you walking towards the edge, okay?"

Rick's expression softened.

"I don't sleepwalk," he informed her, somewhat bemused despite everything.

"Well now I know that," Michonne said, getting up and brushing herself off.

She pointedly neglected to apologize for the misunderstanding. After all, if he had been sleepwalking, she would have saved his life!

Rick's expression was unreadable. He felt at once touched by Michonne's overprotectiveness, amused by the awkward misunderstanding, and sobered by the lethal danger surrounding him.

"Alright then, carry on," Michonne made a dismissive hand gesture and crossed to the other side of the tree house, leaving Rick to take care of his business.

Carl was woken up by all the early morning commotion. He yawned and stretched his arms.

Realizing that he also needed to pee, Carl got up and went to join his father at the edge, mirroring his stance. They exchanged a rare smirk at Michonne's expense.

Michonne busied herself rolling up the sleeping bags and doing her morning stretches.

Later, the three hungry survivors were gathered in the center of the small tree house, each lost in thought.

Rick hefted one of the full ammunition boxes, "These are heavy enough, we could bash a few skulls in, but there's not enough to make a difference..."

Carl spoke up, "I wish we had Daryl's crossbow. That would really help."

Rick felt a pang of grief at the mention of his friend, but he continued along that line of thought, "We would need a lot of arrows."

"We could make some!" Carl began to grow excited, jumping up and motioning around them, "We'll gather some sticks, sharpen them...What do you think?"

Rick considered this. They certainly had ready access to a tree full of sticks, hunting knifes to sharpen the ends, maybe use them like spears, pick off the walkers one by one...it could work. Either way, he didn't have any better suggestions and it would do them good to keep busy.

"It's worth a try," Rick agreed with his son, "Let's gather a few sticks and get started."

They searched around inside the tree house, reached outside the cut-out windows, and pretty soon had gathered a handful of thin sticks. Carl drew his hunting knife and set about sharpening the end of a medium-sized stick.

Michonne watched them move around, getting to work, frowning in concentration.

"This is stupid," Michonne said, startling her companions.

Surprise registered on Carl's face. Rick's mouth fell open, at a loss for words. It was uncharacteristic for Michonne to say something so critical and petty.

Michonne didn't notice their confusion. She stood, caught up in some inspiration known only to her, and moved towards the far wall.

She picked up her sword and drew the blade from its sheath, careful in the cramped quarters.

"We'll use this," she declared.

"We'll attach a rope somehow, I'll throw it straight down like this," she made a motion like she was stabbing the ground, "kill a walker, pull the sword back up with the rope, then repeat."

Rick nodded in appreciation, "We don't have much in the way of rope, but we'll improvise. Let's do it."

Carl was intrigued, but not ready to give up on his arrow making idea.

"You could use the straps from our bags and backpacks...or cut the straps for tying up the sleeping bags," Rick suggested.

Carl continued sharpening the stick in his hand. It couldn't hurt to have a Plan B.

Rick stood and glanced over the edge of the wooden platform, judging the distance to the walkers below, "I think this could work."

Michonne stood by his side, mimed stabbing the sword straight down without letting go of it.

"Like smushing ants on the sidewalk," she said to herself.

Rick began to unbuckle his belt.

Michonne gave him a skeptical look, "Rick, this is hardly the time to pee! Seriously."

Carl chuckled at that, causing Michonne to crack a smile as well, letting Rick know that she wasn't serious.

"That's not what I'm doing," he muttered, rolling his eyes at her teasing.

He pulled his belt all the way out of his belt loops. It was a sturdy leather belt and, just as he thought, the rectangular metal buckle was the right size. He slid the blade of the sword through the buckle so that it rested against the hilt.

Rick tied the belt in a knot around the base of the handle. This way it wouldn't swing around and cut the belt when they put it into action. He tied it again at the top of the handle so that, when he held the now very short end of the belt, the sword hung relatively straight down.

It was haphazard at best, but he thought it could work.

"This could work," Michonne echoed his thoughts, holding the contraption and twisting it this way and that, "Needs to be much longer."

They tied together the strap from the nylon EMT bag, a few other sturdy looking backpack straps, and the straps from the sleeping bags, taking their time to make each knot tight and secure. Michonne and Carl reluctantly handed over their belts as well.

Finally, they were ready to start.