The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and red as Arthur led his horse back to the camp. Each step of the animal seemed to echo in the quiet of the trail, and the wind carried the scent of earth and smoke from the fires that were just being lit. He tied up the horse with automatic movements, gestures repeated so many times they no longer required thought. The camp seemed peaceful, but the weight of the day still pressed on his shoulders.

Arthur walked to his open tent, feeling every muscle tired. He coughed quietly, a hoarse sound that came without warning, and shrugged, thinking it was just the dry air or dust. His body felt heavier with every step, and he leaned on the edge of his camp bed as soon as he entered, rubbing his face with one hand as if trying to wipe away the accumulated exhaustion. The tent offered no luxury, but it was his refuge, the only space where he could leave the routine and the world outside.

Sitting there, Arthur stayed quiet for a few moments, breathing slowly and letting the tension of the day slide off. The crackle of the fires around reminded him that life in the camp went on, but for now, he simply remained there, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face, accepting the fatigue that came from every trail, every choice, and every struggle the day had brought with it.