the sun warms arthur's shoulders by its weakening glare, an angered and constant shower of light. softened by the changing sky, the opalescent waters of o'creagh's run ripple and flutter, casting a gentle reflection upon the wooden dock arthur had built mere months prior.

you sit curled at the edge of its outstretched embrace of the lake; a pelt wrapped 'round your shoulders, a mug of hot coffee clutched dearly to your chest. upon having finished his nightly "chores" around the cabin, (a quaint, sturdy structure he'd built from the ground up at the bay of the water) arthur stalks in your direction, boots dragging.

a mumbled greeting, a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, before he claims that he's headed back in to check up on the meal stewing over the burner. the moon sleepily peaks beyond the crest of the mountainous landscape before you, the fading colours of the sky leaving you at peace.

feathered friends sing their goodnights, and within the indigo above gradually blossoms a spattering of lovely stars.