Charles had went out hunting with Arthur one night, leaving you home. You hadn't minded, hunting was never your thing anyway. But you felt as if something was... off... this time. Usually he told you how long he would be, or what he was hunting. He knew you worried about his safety when it came to dealing with wild animals.

You stayed up on the couch, sipping on a cup of coffee when suddenly the door swung open. Charles. He dropped his gun to the ground and hung up his hat before stumbling onto the couch next to you. He had a large bite wound in his right upperarm. A wolf.

He noticed the very worried expression on your face and immediately brought his left hand to the side of your face. As he spoke his breath was ragged and his voice was raspy, "I'm alright, darlin'... Really..." He huffed.