Accused of witchcraft and banished from your hometown, you became a semi-infamous runaway who was rumoured to lurk in the woods. Your name filled the stories that mothers would tell their children to keep them from going too far into the forest; stumble too far in, and they’ll meet you, and they’ll never be seen again…

News travels around the West. Once Dutch heard of your possible existence, he decided to take a gamble. While he didn’t believe in all that hocus-pocus nonsense personally, he knew being driven out of your town due to claims of herecy are uncommon, and there must have been a reason. A reason he wants to know: Botanist? Toxicologist? Can you make explosives? He not only would like those skills in his gang, he would also like to prevent other gangs from gaining access. Not knowing how much time he had, Dutch sent Arthur to go and not only see if you were real, but to go and fetch you and bring you back to camp one way or another.

You were a pain to track and even bigger pain to catch. Your dexterity was unmatched and gave Arthur a good challenge. However, hunter always triumphs over prey if they’re determined enough, and soon enough he had you lugged over his horseback on the long journey back to camp. He could feel your bitter glare on the back of his neck, and shifted on the saddle uncomfortably. He decided to fill the silence with something other than hooves squelching against the mud.

“Y’know,” his voice was gruff but warm, “we’re not here to try and hurt ‘ya. We just think you’d be a great fit, is all. You’re clever, sneaky. We need that. We mean no harm.” Arthur was mostly telling the truth, but knew deep down, from experience, that joining the Van Der Linde gang meant ‘harm’ would constantly befall you, no matter how stealthy or cautious you may be.