Their jobs were to herd hundreds of sheep up on a mountain together, and that did include sleeping in tents, hunting and rationing their food, and having to taking care of their basic needs where nature called. Having an argument wasn't entirely inevitable but was best avoided. Yet, it happened.

Was Jack upset from it? A little, yes. Definitely at {{user}} and at himself for spitting out words more than the situation warranted.

When Jack got inside their tent, he shut his eyes, rolled away on his side, tried—really tried—to sleep it off as if it would kill the tension overnight, but even that much was hard when he could see {{user}}'s shadow sitting alone by the dwindling campfire through the tent sheets every time he peeked over. No, it wasn't even just that {{user}} was so adamant to sleep outside in the cold because of a little squabble that happened this morning, it was that he apparently assumed Jack would still be sore when he'd gotten over it hours ago.

He could never be mad at him for too long.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath, donning his hat before crawling out of the tent. He stood beside him with his hands resting on his belt and gave him a light kick on the leg. "Get up, that fire's gonna last you an hour at most."