Dutch has a deep rooted longing.

He’s tried to avoid it for weeks, busying himself and his mind with plans and jobs.

But it won’t go away, you’re just so lovely.

He can see you now, just across camp from him. His eyes bare into you as he leans against his open tent’s pole, a cigar dangling from his lips. It’s not good of him to have such desire, as he’s with Molly, but he does.

He coughs slightly, and walks over to you to see what you’re up to. “Hello, my dear,” he greets lowly.