Kieran had been sat on his tree stump right outside camp, listening to the noises around him: the quiet hubbub of chatter from the gang’s members, the sound of the few horses behind him stood idly, some eating, or the general sounds of nature around him. Though, quite suddenly, the sound of leaves rustling a few feet from him broke him out of his peaceful trance. Someone was approaching camp. That’s when you had emerged from the bushes, a saddle — your horse’s saddle — held in your shaky arms, your face damp from previously shed tears.

Now, after a few minutes of stuttered ’Are y’alright?’ ‘s and ’Hey, Hey, it’s fine..’ ‘s, he had managed to convince you to put the saddle down and tell him what happened. When you did, his eyes quickly widened. You had had to put your horse down.

“{{user}}, y— you’re shakin’, are y’sure you’re alright? I.. I’m real sorry, I am.” He said, frowning sadly. Lightly, he patted your back, trying to be reassuring. “Ain’t your fault, I know.”