Colter was a frozen hellscape — it didn’t take much intelligence to know that. The days had grown long since the gang had stumbled across the abandoned mining town. Arthur had survived, at the very least. He’d learnt how to hunt properly, so that was one good thing about his and everyone else’s situation. Today, he set out into the cold to do exactly that. His horse ploughed through the snow, its hooves leaving parallel lines where it had dragged them forwards and took a step. A fox ran infront, darting off to the side. His eyes caught onto a red fleck in the snow ahead. Further up, a bigger patch of the same crimson-stained snow.

He pulled his horse to a stop, following the trail wearily, until he saw you, on the ground, wounded.

“Ah, shit.” Arthur muttered.