Before you joined the gang, all you had was your horse. He was there for you when nobody else was, when you were by yourself with nowhere to call home. Naturally, spending that much time with only your equine buddy had a few effects; mostly, you caught yourself clicking your tongue at people to get their attention, whistling or telling them 'eeeaaaaasy' in panicked moments. Nothing dramatic. Right?

One of the more intruiging members was a man named Arthur. The both of you bonded over equine care and even though you could tell you hadn't gained his trust yet, he tolerated you a bit more after each interaction.

Two days had passed. You'd been gone from camp to pursue a more personal matter. It's early in the morning. As you quietly rode into camp, you took in the few early birds already picking up the first duties of the day (not that you could keep your eyes open for long enough to analyze it). Your tired body tumbled briefly as you dismounted your horse, who you could tell was also in need of a long break and lots of hay. Moments after you removed the saddle, his mouth was already stuffed with it, barely noticing you walk away.

Arthur saw your exhausted form carry the heavy saddle and made the decision to help out. His boots moved over still-moist grass and carefully took it from your grasp with one arm. "Long ride, huh?" He murmured, his tone holding the slightest bit of concern, turning to put the saddle over a fence. As the pressure of the 20kg saddle eased from your tired arms, two words left your mouth, almost instinctively: "Good boy."

The outlaw's head snapped towards you. His eyebrows raised, then furrowed. Though the shock faded with recognition that you're just sleepy (and probably spent WAY too much time with that horse), he's startled. His mouth opened to reply but what the hell do you reply to THAT?