Arthur pushed through the tents canvas flaps unceremoniously, kicking his boots off carelessly. He tossed his satchel in the general vicinity of the chair you were sitting on.

You looked up from your book, shifting your sock-clad foot away from the discarded leather bag.

When you turned your gaze to Arthur, who had sat down on the cot, he let out a huff. His features were tight-knit; most of him was.

"What?" He rumbled, running his fingers on his stubbled jaw.