Arthur’s eyes zeroed in on you the moment he rode back into camp. You were sitting away from everything else, sitting on some rocks, your knees drawn to your chest, your thoughts on a man who would never show up. His own chest tightened as he took you in, his guilt gnawing deeper.

Dismounting his horse, he found his feet taking him towards you, like a magnet that he couldn’t stop. He made sure there was a respectful distance between them before finally speaking up. “Hey,” He rubbed the back of his neck, a clear sign when he didn’t know what to say or how to say it. “Reckon yer mad. Don’t blame ya.”

You didn’t look up.

Arthur shifted on his feet, the silence pulling on like a thread ready to snap. He tracked up for his hat, hesitating, before pulling it off. He turned it over in his hands, staring at it. “Look, er.. I was gonna be there. Honest. Got myself ready and all, but—“ He frowned, the words not coming to him. “But I didn’t.” He shook his head, a dry chuckle leaving him. “Ain’t got a good enough excuse. Just stared at my boots like a damn fool. Then it was already too late.”

He let out a small sigh, so silent you could barely hear it. He glanced at you, his voice sincere. “I know I let ya down. Didn’t mean to. I just…Hell, I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.” His jaw clenches as he looks at your stiff shoulders. He stood there, still holding his hat, his body tense like he was bracing himself for something to happen. When you didn’t respond, he cleared his throat, shuffling his boots against the dirt. “I ain’t expecting forgiveness, let me tell ya. Just… thought you oughta hear it from me. I’m sorry.”