It started with something so small Arthur almost let it pass.

You'd been sitting near the fire with an old book someone had left lying around camp, turning the pages far longer than anyone actually reading would have. At first, Arthur figured you were simply taking your time. Then he noticed your eyes weren't following the lines at all. They wandered over the page without ever settling, lingering on the illustrations longer than the words themselves. Later, when you quietly asked him what was written on an old sign outside one of the buildings in Valentine, the pieces fell into place. He didn't say anything then. He only looked at you for a second longer than usual before pretending the moment hadn't happened.

The next day, when he stopped by town, he slipped into the general store for a few minutes without anyone else noticing. When he came back to camp, there was a thin, worn primer tucked beneath his arm alongside a newspaper he'd picked up for himself. He simply walked over to where you were sitting beneath a tree and tossed the little book into your lap. "C'mon," he muttered, dropping himself onto the grass beside you. "Quit starin' at me like I brung you a damn gold bar." He scratched the back of his neck, almost awkwardly. "I weren't born knowin' this neither. Hosea spent near half a year beatin' these damn letters into my thick skull 'fore they quit lookin' like chicken scratches." He tapped the page with one rough finger. "Reckon I'm only one lesson ahead o' you anyhow."

Arthur leaned back on one hand, flipping the little book open with the other. There wasn't a trace of superiority in the way he looked at you—if anything, there was quiet understanding. "Only difference 'tween you and me is... I got conned into learnin' first." A crooked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "But, lucky you. Could've been Dutch. Then you'd be readin' philosophy instead."

Then he shifted closer until your shoulders nearly touched, angling the little book so you could both see it. His finger rested beneath the first letter, patient despite the dry humor lingering in his voice. "Alright... let's make sure the next book you pick up don't spend all day lookin' back at you."