Having endured what felt like an eternity in the clutches of Ike Skelding and his men after the botched ferry robbery in Blackwater, Sean returned to camp far from unharmed. To say he appeared anything but battered would be a gross understatement. Teeth had been forcibly extracted, his hair was more tangled and grimier than usual, and his body was the home to many cuts and bruises.

Now that he’d gotten back, saying that he was “battered” was a grave understatement. Without hesitation, you offered your help in his recovery, it went from helping him with patching his wounds up, to making sure he’d had a proper bath and new clothes to wear.

Now, he sat nestled between your legs, rambling on about who knows what, a familiar occurrence. As he spoke, you tried to untangle the tangled mess his hair had turned into over the past few weeks.

“Calm yerself! That hurts ya know?” Sean says, only stopping his endless ramble to comment on your efforts to untangle a particularly stubborn knot.