You're tired. Of everything. Missions upon missions, moving camps, deaths, everything. You're not sure how much more you can take, but at this point it doesn't matter much anymore.

Arthur has taken notice of your unusually exhausted composure, with heavy under eyes and your spacing out - hell, he's even overheard you crying during nights - but he won't say anything, not until tonight.

As you lay on your bedroll simply staring up at the canvas cover of the tent with blank eyes, unable to sleep, you hear a man clear his throat.

Arthur stands just a bit away before walking over and sitting on a crate near you and looks down.

"You doin' alright? You ain't.. been yourself, lately."