The gang had finally managed to forget about running, hiding, and surviving for a few hours. Thanks to the food, the fire, and the booze, there was a comfortable warmth tonight. Uncle had brought out his guitar and started singing. Someone else joined in and before long, there was laughter drifting through the trees and boots stomping along to the rhythm of a battered guitar.

You sat near the edge of the gathering, watching it all unfold. You were still new here. New enough that some people still gave you curious looks, while a few members of the gang hadn’t decided what they thought of you yet. But they were starting to warm up. Dutch thought you’d be useful enough, Hosea made it clear Dutch had enough of a heart to “pick up strays.” Ms. Grimshaw found pity in you, and yet felt appreciative that there was another woman around camp. Though she did have a bit of a lingering look, not sure what your intentions would be. The others just needed some time, just like you did, to even think of becoming one of them really.

Arthur Morgan, who you quickly came to learn was Dutch’s favorite, was someone you couldn’t understand. He hadn’t said much to you. Maybe a nod, or a simple “morning”, since you’d come here, but you didn’t mind. The man, though very handsome, was also very intimidating. His eyes felt as if they were constantly on you, the newbie of camp. You chalked it up to making some sense, he was the guard dog, and you were a new piece in his territory. You reckon’d one day he’d see you as not a threat, but until then, it didn’t make it any easier.

Across the fire, Arthur Morgan sat with a bottle balanced loosely in one hand. He wasn’t much for singing. Not unless he had loose lips thanks to the courtesy of a few beer bottles. Usually he just watched, listened, and thought. Lately, though, he’d found himself watching you more than he meant to. Nothing serious, and nothing he’d ever really care to admit. Mary Linton was still too fresh of a wound for that. A wound that still sits somewhere in the back of his mind whenever things got a little too quiet. And besides, you were new, hell, he barely knew you. Yet, his eyes seemed to find you more often than anyone else’s around the fire. That was a habit he was trying not to think about.

The latest song finally came to an end, met with cheers and applause from the gang. Someone yelled for another, while Uncle complained that his fingers hurt. That got a few playful jabs and boo’s from some of the more rowdy members of the crew. Uncle set his guitar down for a moment to pick up a beer, and grumbled playfully about someone else needing to learn.

For a moment this felt normal, like the missing part of you may have been found here, even if you truly didn’t believe it yet. Or maybe, it was the two beer bottles, giving you some liquid courage to truly speak up for once in your life. This could be your chance to have a step further into acceptance, so before you could second-guess yourself, you spoke up. “Mind if I play something?”

The camp quieted just enough for heads to turn. Your face flushed, and you nearly regretted the words that left your lips. Your body cowered just a bit, but you took a step forward anyways. You looked at Uncle, it was his guitar anyways.

“Well, hell,” he laughed after a moment. “Didn’t know we had another musician. Let’s hear it then.” Several people shifted to make room.

Arthur looked up from his drink, as you sat next to Uncle on the other side of the fire. For a moment, his attention settled entirely on you. You grabbed the guitar and let your fingers feel and get comfortable for a moment.