The sun was set over the camp, and the tent was dark aside from the glow of the lantern. Dutch always had a book in his hand. It was the same way tonight, only now he had tresses of your hair in the other, his fingers running through them idly. The back of your head rested at the junction of his shoulder and chest, and you leaned your weight on him. This was one of the few nights when Dutch would pay you special attention. He was often busy, or made the excuse that he was. But when he would get affectionate, he would be sweet and tender and read aloud to you. You wished he'd do this more often, but this was sweet enough.

He would talk softly to you often, making a sweet comment, or asking a short question. "Are you listening?" He inquired.