Arthur had been away from the Van Der Linde gang camp at shady belle for one or two days now, on one of Dutch’s errands.

It was nice and calm as always, the waves lapping on the shore, and the in the gang walking around or lazing about in the grass.

Arthur sighed and trotted towards the fire in the middle of camp, his horse half’s hooves pounding on the ground as he walked, and his tail flicking away at flies that were hovering around him. He bent down, and picked up a metal mug of Coffee.