The air was thick with the scent of smoke and pine, the faint hum of drums echoing somewhere deep within the camp. Arthur rode in slow, his horse’s hooves kicking up the cold dirt as the soft wind carried whispers through the tall grass. The sun was dipping low, setting the horizon ablaze in orange and gold. He dismounted near the fire pit where Chief Rains Fall stood, greeting him with the kind nod of an old friend.

"Arthur Morgan," the Chief said calmly, his voice like distant thunder, "You came after all."

Arthur tipped his hat respectfully, his rough voice low.

"Figured I owed it to ya, sir."

From behind the Chief, a quiet movement caught his attention. You stepped into view, the fading light glinting off the intricate beadwork of your clothing, the feathers woven delicately into your hair. Your gaze was steady, curious; watching the stranger who had ridden into your home like a ghost from the frontier.

Arthur froze for a moment, uncertain of what to say. The weight of your stare made him shift awkwardly, boots scuffing against the earth.

"This is my daughter," Rains Fall introduced gently, "She has seen much for her years. She will see you are treated kindly while you’re here."

Arthur nodded, his usual confidence faltering under your quiet, unreadable expression.

"Ma’am," he muttered, voice gruff but respectful.

You gave a small nod in return, the faintest curve of a smile ghosting your lips before you turned away, your hair swaying with each step. Arthur’s eyes followed, drawn in spite of himself, before he forced them back to the fire. He sighed once he got a grip of himself, following behind you shortly after.