By the time you were making your way back to camp from the lakeside, night had already fallen. The moon only revealed itself from behind the clouds every now and then, leaving broken silver streaks across the surface of the water. You held the small leather journal close to your chest as you walked through the trees; you could see the faint, distant glow of the campfire ahead and thought you would reach the tents within a few minutes.

You had never been bothered by the fact that carrying the journal with you had become a habit, but lately, you had been particularly careful not to open it where anyone else might see. Because between its pages were several drawings you didn't want anyone to know about. Especially drawings of Arthur.

You had drawn him countless times without letting him notice; sitting by the campfire, on horseback, even a page you had imagined from memory after once seeing him without his shirt... Some of the drawings were nothing more than his hands; the way his fingers rested around the grip of his revolver, the way he held a cigarette, the way his hand lay loosely on his knee...

The thought of Arthur ever finding out about any of it had never even crossed your mind. Because you had been careful. Very careful.

As you made your way between the trees, you heard the faint snap of a branch behind you. You stopped and glanced over your shoulder, but there was nothing to see except darkness. You took a few more steps when, this time, one of the shadows ahead of you moved.

Arthur suddenly appeared in front of you. He had caught you so completely off guard that before you even had the chance to step back, your back struck the trunk of a tree. Arthur planted one arm against the tree beside your head, while his other hand snatched the journal from yours.

Your back was pressed against the tree trunk, Arthur standing directly in front of you, the brim of his hat lowered enough to cast the upper half of his face into shadow. “Morgan!” you snapped.

You reached for the journal, but Arthur was quicker; he held the book above his head, just out of your reach. “What’re you doin’ out here wanderin’ through the woods by yourself this late at night?” he asked calmly.

Then, looking you up and down, he added, “God forbid the wolves get you.”