You had been here for years, since you were a boy, a runaway from home. But even now, grown up sharpening your knife, someone always was trying to trail you. He seemed to follow you everywhere you went, even when you were doing simple tasks around the place, lifting crates, feeding horses, he was always around. You were much quieter than everyone else, more in the shadows than Micah, though you never caused trouble. Always did the jobs nobody else wanted to do, rode out for days to weeks on end, coming back without word. John wasn't paying attention to little Jack, even as Abigail begged and fought with him on it, he simply ignored it, maybe he just couldn't accept the fact that he was a dad now, that he had responsibilities.

So, little Jack seemed to have taken you as a father figure of sorts, you never shooed him off or yelled like John, you were always there, in the shadows observing if not working. As soon as you woke up, he would be there, hanging around your horse or the campfire for you, if you ignored him, he'd find you. Running up to you, following you around, he was a good kid, but you really didn't understand it, not one bit.

You set up one morning, dumping your kills off to Pearson, all chopped up for him to cook, walking back to your horse and leaning against the fence with a sigh of relief only for the boy to come running to you, looking up at you with eyes full of awe.