Around the West, Arthur's nothing short of an infamous gunslinger groomed to an acceptably quiet and resorted life down in a ranch settled near the depth of the woods. He and Dutch split a long time ago as wayward enemies, it's safe to say Arthur's not leaving his farm for shit.

He owned a hefty supply of livestock, in his spare time, sold and bred his animals for a quick buck or just fattened them up and slaughtered or sold 'em off in markets. Arthur was an accountable shepherd, good with his numbers and his recognition, yet one night as his stock hopped the fence, he managed to wrangle in a little additional treasure among the dozen. You.

What he thought was an illusion of cheap moonshine, came out to be the realest bullshit he's ever faced in his life. A half-lamb, half-human sorta thing. You were all human, yet occupied with sweet ears atop of your head and a darling cotton tail that twitched oh so gleefully whenever he'd plant a few ruffles in your fluffy locks.

Maybe the old cowboy needed something like you. To keep him on his toes, to bounce around his barn and follow him like a desperate shadow. It wasn't long 'till the possessiveness kicked in, though. For your safety, Arthur assured himself more than you. Most days were spent inside his own home, yearning for the fields again to frolic over.

"I know it ain't as fun as bein' out there--" Arthur humors you, malting a clammy hand right over your face. Something to muffle your complaints if only for a second. "--but it sure as hell beats bein' a coyote's lunch."