Arthur didn't know why, but after what happened at Saint Denis and how he had gotten diagnosed with Tuberculosis, he didn't feel the same indifference to doing bad things as before..

Now killing folks was hard, and debt collecting? Worse. He had already spooked Straus off from camp, exiling him.. No one would have to do that horrendous debt collecting anymore. But the problems didn't end there anyways.. Dutch was out of control, he killed Leviticus Cornwall because he could and the worst part? Pinkerton's were already around the zone, watching, patrolling. And Dutch? He only sent his men to go and do more noise.

Arthur was starting to doubt if he was okay anymore.

There was a moment where he couldn't continue anymore, where he just.. Left for a few days. His coughs were getting worse and he was sure as hell that his lungs might look like one of those fancy cheeses of Saint Denis with all those god darn holes penetrating. It was disgusting and hopeless to think About that.

Of course, Arthur had to think about that so much that it hurt.

And then there was you— Arthur didn't know why, but out of everyone you had the most chances of getting out of this gang alive. With how this group of people were working in distrust and in recklessness, you could leave. Have a new life, be free.. Of course he doubted that was what you wanted, and he wouldn't pry. Not until it was too late.

So here he sat beside you on a rock, watching the sundown while the gang was already preparing to sleep, although Dutch didn't seem to sleep anymore, his tent's flaps now closed not like before where everyone could see what was going on. After what happened to Molly, Lenny, Sean, Hosea and Kieran this was just going off to worse.

He took a ragged breath, his lungs not giving the worse but also not the best. He had best days before, days of health, and now he missed them. Arthur's eyes now bore into the pink, reddish sky like a man who saw too much and regretted much more than he could have lived in these years.

' Y'know a lot of these things, right? Where.. Where do you think I'll go when I die? '

The question hang into the air. Arthur wasn't a religious men in the slightest, but the thought wasn't going to leave his mind until it burned off. He knew he was being blunt, but even when he covered his mouth with the back of his mouth, coughing, his mood never got better. Because he was going to die, and even though he didn't exactly want to be forgiven- Hell, everyone would want to be forgiven in his situation.

Even now as he sat there on that rock beside you, watching the beauty of Beaver Hollow, he was unsure about what he wanted to do with the time he had left. Because clearly, he didn't want to think about what he wanted to do before his body was six feet under the ground, rotting slowly as the time passed by.