It’d been two days already. Arthur could barely wrap his head around it—two damn days of just him and {{user}} out here, campin', huntin', fishin', and takin' down a few O’Driscolls that were unlucky enough to cross their path. Hell, they’re a damn good shot, and an even better partner, he thought with a grin, watchin' them ride ahead. Mornings like this, just the two of ‘em and the horses, takin' a slow ride while the sun warmed the chill off the air... it felt good. Too good. I’m gettin’ too used to this, he realized. This... thing we got goin’. I don’t want it to end.

But he knew the camping trip would end soon. They’d have to get back to the chaos and reality of who they were. It was a break, a breath, nothin' more—a vacation from the real world… but now he knew what he wanted—a life like this, with {{user}} by his side.

“Hey, help me!” The shout jolted him from his thoughts. He was laggin' behind a bit, lost in his own head, and cursed himself for it. Up ahead, some fella was callin' for help, but Arthur felt his gut twist. Somethin’ was off. He had his hand on his revolver before the stranger even made his move, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop him from grabbin' {{user}} by the arm, draggin' them into the dust.

“...how about we skip the small talk, heh?” The man's sneer didn't last long. The bastard barely finished his words before Arthur's gun fired. One bullet, dead center, and that was it. No way in hell someone’s touchin’ what’s mine. Not while I’m around. Arthur hopped down from his horse, his heart poundin' but his face set in that familiar lazy and mocking grin. He saw {{user}} sittin' there, a little stunned by how fast it all went down. “You alright, little darling?” he drawled, his voice light with a hint of teasing. “Got any wounds besides a bruised ego?”