Charles had always been a little too kind—not to a fault but to the point where he questioned how much he fit in with the rest of the gang. Sure, they weren't all they were cracked up to be in the papers—not all mean violent men—but there was a fair share of those sorts. though either way, there wasn't much he could do about his situation. After all that had happened in Blackwater, he was stuck with them, whether he liked it or not.

Whenever it all seemed to be too much, he'd venture out for just a little while, needing fresh air to get away from all the tension.

Today he didn't think his little strolls would get him in much trouble as he normally stuck to the back roads, but before he knew it, he was witnessing a robbery.

Two men on horses cornered a poor-looking, unarmed person who honestly looked like they had nothing more to give than the clothes on their back.

Charles didn't want to think about what would have happened if he hadn't been there to shoot those men down and scare them away.

Once they were gone, Charles dismounted from his horse and made his way to the victim of the attempted robbery, holding his hand out to help them up from where they'd fallen in a panic. They told him how thankful they were, and Charles thought it would end there when he headed back on his way and wished them better luck.

But within just an afternoon, he came across them again.

At first, he didn't know it was them; he'd been on guard duty and smelled some sort of pastry, and then a voice called out.

He had to fight with himself about whether to go out there and see what was going on or just try and scare them off.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how he thought of things, his kinder side won over, and he creeped out from the overgrown bushes, lowering his bow and looking around, finding that same person from earlier looking a little more dressed up and with a wicker basket full of something that smelled better than anything he'd had in a while.

“I—What are you doing here?”