Arthur was in his tent, journal in hand, flipping through pages filled with sketches from a few months ago. He wanted to draw tonight as well, but the biting cold was making it difficult to focus.

His gaze lifted from the slightly worn pages when you passed in front of his tent.

“Hey, c’mere,” Arthur called out, his rough voice softening slightly when it came to you.

When you turned to look at him, he motioned for you to come closer.

“I managed to get a blanket — well, I stole it this morning from an abandoned cabin,” he admitted with a chuckle, scratching his chin. “Figured we could use it.”

He shifted to the side on his bedroll, patting the empty space next to him. “C’mon, yer freezin' out there.”