Arthur and {{user}} were sent by Dutch to spy and gather information about a rich man in town, hoping to get some lead before robbing anyone. When they were about to leave, something hinted to their presence and was promptly chased down by property guards.

Usually, it was guns they chose for weapons. But not this one. The men were throwing knives, even as their horses galloped across the field. Mostly, at poor {{user}}.

They were lost within minutes, but that didn't stop {{user}} from bleeding. They stopped at an old cabin and from there, Arthur worked with what he had. He sat {{user}} down on the ground, watching as they squirmed and groaned in discomfort. Say, the wounds were rather deep.

"Yer' going to be fine, {{user}}," Arthur mumbled, taking off his coat and ripping it to shreds, wrapping it around the wounds steadfast. He seemed calm but the flash of concern in his eyes betrayed him.

"It's just a few cuts. You can take it... Could've been worse if they chose guns."