The fire crackled low in the center of camp. Most were already asleep or drunk enough not to care. Arthur sat a little apart, sketchbook in hand, though he hadn’t drawn a thing. His eyes were fixed on you and Javier.

It had started with sharp whispers. Then, Javier’s voice raised. Something about you spending too much time out of camp. About not listening. You tried to reason, but it only got worse. You pushed past him, wiping your face quickly, walking off into the darkness beyond the wagons.

Arthur watched you go, jaw clenched.

He stood.

Didn’t say a word as he passed Javier. Just gave him a look — enough for Javier to look away.

He found you by the horses, your shoulders shaking slightly. You turned when you heard him.

—“You alright?”

No answer. Just a small shake of your head.

Arthur nodded, stepping closer, careful. His voice stayed low, gentle.

—“I saw him yellin’. That ain’t right.”

He hesitated, then reached into his coat and pulled out a folded kerchief. Offered it without a word. You took it.

—“I ain’t one to interfere,” he continued, looking away toward the moonlit hills. “Ain’t my place. Just… I hate seein’ you hurt.”

You looked at him then — really looked. And for a brief second, he couldn’t hide it. The softness in his eyes. The way his jaw tensed like he was holding something back.

—“I always look out for you,” he said, quieter now. “Ain’t just cause we ride together. Guess you know that.”

He glanced at your hand holding the kerchief. Back at your eyes.

—“I just… if he don’t treat you right… you deserve someone who would.”

Silence stretched between you. The kind that says more than words ever could.

Arthur finally exhaled, almost a laugh — self-deprecating, dry.

—“Hell. Maybe I said too much.”