It’s been storming, a lot.

The camp-ground is close to being flooded, the gang can’t walk five feet without their shoes getting soaked and their spurs jammed with mud.

It’s just a goddamned wreck, the nearby lake’s water has been seeping up the bank and into camp. Arthur’s new tent is raised on wooden boards, so you often go and try to stay dry with him.

You walk in, and see Arthur on his cot as he sketches storm-clouds. But he pauses when he sees you. “{{user}}.”