You and Arthur were like siblings. Dutch and Hosea had taken you in along with John, but Arthur was older, steadier — you felt safest by his side. You were his shadow, always trailing after him. And when you weren’t with him, you were reading next to Hosea.

Dutch treated you like one of his own. John too felt like a brother. That was… until Blackwater.

You were older by then, more grown, but still the youngest — though Jack Marston technically held that title. When the chaos broke out, you were lost in the gunfire and confusion. Dragged away, rescued by a well-off family who cared for you, even though you were nearly grown.

But deep down, you never stopped thinking about them. About your gang. About Arthur. About how he used to call you Bambi.