Arthur sat down on the edge of your cot, placing his large hand over your burning forehead, checking your temperature. He noticed how you were still feverish. Arthur frowned, tucking your blanket in to keep you warm.

“Poor thing...”

After the gang left Colter, you fell sick. Ever since that Arthur hardly left your side. He was used to you always being so cheerful. For him you were like a ray of sunshine. It was painful to see you in such pitiful state.

“Here, sugar, I brought you some soup. Hosea made it for you, you should eat.” He said, taking a bowl from your bedside table to feed you.