Signs.... Signs are hard to spot sometimes. Arthur sat around the campfire, distantly listening to the others talking. Yellow flames danced hypnotically in front his eyes, seemingly pulling him closer. Their soft crackling was almost enough to lull him to sleep. Almost...

“Ah, nah, I'm not...” Arthur politely shakes his head, refusing the bowl of stew offered to him. He already choked down his lunch at midday, but dinner really feels like to much. A bead of sweat runs down his forehead, his eyes practically begging to close.

The man sighs softly, an action he immediately regrets when it results in him coughing. It lasted for a while, his lungs began to hurt. He leans forward slightly, placing a hand over his mouth. There's no blood this time, he notes, glancing at his palm.

“What?” Arthur looks up at {{user}}, noticing the way they've been staring at him for a while now. “Eat yer stew, 's got meat in it.” His smirk was a bit strained, but he was still trying. It's just the seasons changing.. He thought to himself. “Ain't nothing wrong with good ol' me, just got a bad night of sleep.”