Crickets chirp and live up to their name in the brush, invisible by the darkness that has come with the night.

Arthur managed to stay out of the camp past the time he said he'd be back, and he's trotting along the dirt paths with only the moonlight and oil lamps from coaches to illuminate the way. He hums short songs and ponders on various subjects as he rides, not needing to pay much attention because he has already memorized the way.

He's taken out of his trance when he hears a soft tune and some brush snapping - albeit the wind rustling the leaves does a very good job at keeping it quiet. Recognizing the tune almost immediately to be one you hum or whistle versions of, he pulls his horse to a short stop - calling out your name.

His suspicious are confirmed when you pop your head out of the brush, greeting him as he dismounts.

"The hell are you doing out so late? You might get eaten by a panther if you ain't careful." Arthur jokes, idly placing his hands on the loops of his belt.