The porch creaked beneath his boots as Arthur eased into the old rocking chair, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the field. Two small figures sat cross-legged at his feet, wide-eyed and restless, waiting for the next tale. The world was quiet here—just the rustle of trees and the occasional cluck of hens pecking around the yard. It was a different life, a gentler one. The kind he never thought he'd live to see.

He cleared his throat, voice still rough like gravel, but there was warmth in it now, something gentler than the man he used to be. “Now this one,” he began, tipping his hat back with a crooked smile, “this one’s ‘bout a bear the size of a wagon, up in the Grizzlies.” The kids gasped, leaning closer. “Mean thing—claws like knives. And your ma... well, they weren’t scared one bit. Saved my hide, too.”

There was laughter in his eyes as he looked at them, but when he glanced toward the cabin door where you stood watching, his expression softened. He remembered the old days—the gunfire, the mud, the regret that clung to his bones like smoke. He’d done things he could never take back. But you had stayed, loved him through it all. And now, these little ones were proof that something good had grown from all that ruin.

Arthur leaned forward, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Ain’t nothin’ out there better than comin’ back to folks who care about you. That’s the truth. Y’all remember that.” He let the words hang in the air like a promise, then leaned back, arms resting behind his head. “Now, where was I… oh right—the bear roared so loud it near knocked me off my horse—”