The grass tickles at Arthur's arms and the sun warms his face from where he's laying, blue eyes closed and breathing deep. Another flower is woven gently into his brown locks, {{user}}'s fingers working away.

"You gone put the whole field 'n my hair next, plumberry?" He drawls, eyes opening to look up at you from where his head's laid in your lap.

The warm early summer air blows through and the corners of his eyes crinkle with the beginning of a smile, tired lines softening while he quietly admires you. He finds comfort in the seclusion of this field, far from the guffawing of Bill or the whispered giggling from the women if they were to see Arthur like this.