WARNING: This chapter contains material that some would deem uncomfortable (hunting, animal death, gore). If it does, you are more than welcome to skip. I will have triple asterisks (***) signaling when it starts and when it ends. Thank you!

A couple of days had passed since Arthur and Javier successfully rescued John from the mountain. The weather since then had calmed down considerably causing movement between the few buildings to increase. People were getting anxious to move, mostly due to the lack of provisions and food, but partially due to word getting around that they were about to start heading East into civilization.

Sophia had grown anxious to move around herself, having rested on and off for the last few days. She was more than motivated to get out. Her right shoulder was still immovable from being shot, however, the stitches in her side had become literal thorns in her side. They itched immensely, often catching herself rubbing the area voraciously until it began to hurt.

Upon seeing how the sun was beginning to peek through the overcast skies, Sophia decided then and there that she was going to go outside. Pulling her boots on and her coat, Sophia made her way to the door.

"And where do you think you're going, Ms. Mason?" Mrs. Grimshaw questioned from her seat with a raised brow.

Sophia turned with an innocent expression on her visage, "I want to check on Othello—I've not been able to take care of him since I made it here a few days ago."

The older woman looked her over closely, pursing her lips, "No funny business?"

She shook her head, then paused, curious, "By funny business, you mean…"

"Lifting and pulling on heavy objects…shoveling…" she sighed out, "I'd hate to have to stitch you up again out of your stubbornness."

"Oh. No, just strictly brushing and feeding, ma'am," Sophia replied honestly, reaching with her good arm for the door, "I'll be back shortly."

Mrs. Grimshaw nodded at her words, "Sophia, I've known you a long time," she began, "The words, I'll be back shortly, frighten me to some extent."

Sophia smiled, bowing her head as a quiet chuckle passed her lips, "I'm aware, Mrs. Grimshaw—you have my word."

"Now you're sounding like Mr. Morgan," She chuckled, taking a sip of coffee.

Leaving the shelter of the building, Sophia squinted at the sudden change of brightness, rubbing her eyes to rid herself of the aching feeling they had gotten. It took a few moments to become adjusted, looking around her to gain a layout of the campsite. Wherever it was exactly, it was surely beautiful being covered in thick snow. The West Grizzlies in general were always beautiful, even from afar.

Sophia pulled her coat closer to her form, watching the steam of her breath billow out like smoke from the stack of a train. The air around her was crisp, a little sharp on the first couple intakes, but eased off shortly after. She set off in the direction of where the horses had been hitched to, searching for the gray dapple that had once belonged to her father. Picking her way through the trails that others had cut through the snow, she easily found Othello standing idly beside Taima, Charles' appaloosa mare, and new addition—a bay paint.

"Hey boy," She greeted, watching as the stallion's ears swiveled to the source of the sound. He craned his neck to look, nickering softly at the familiar voice, "How you doing, boy? You doing okay?" She stroked his muzzle with her good hand before getting under his jaw to scratch his favorite place. The stallion lifted his head and leaned into the scratch, grunting as she traveled toward his neck.

Approaching footsteps alerted her, "Good morning," she called out, while continuing scratching Othello's jaw.

The footsteps halted, "I didn't expect you to be out here, Miss. Mason," a familiar voice spoke from her right.

Sophia peered from under Othello's neck to see Charles Smith carrying half a bale of hay. She smiled to him, ducking under Othello's head to greet him properly, "As sure as the sun is shining, I'll be out, Mr. Smith."

"I'm glad to see that you're doing well," He grunted, setting the say amongst the horses, "It's almost hard to believe Mrs. Grimshaw let you out of her sight.

She laughed, "She almost didn't," Sophia placed a hand on Othello's side, "Not allowed to lift on heavy objects or pull…or shovel."

Charles chuckled, lifting a bandaged hand, "Can't pull back a bow to go hunting," Sophia frowned at that, "Give or take a day or two, I should be fine," Charles added with reassurance upon seeing her frown, "How's the shoulder?"

"Sore," she mused with a wince. Her shoulder felt as if someone had stuck a hot poker to it, "My side is itching something fierce though," she added, "almost like poison ivy."

Charles let out a breathy laugh, "Stitches will do that but they'll be out in no time," he motioned to the dapple with a gentle smile, "I'll let you and Othello bond some and I'll come back to check on them again later."

"Charles, I appreciate you keeping an eye on him while I've been unable to," She thanked.

Her words caused him to smile a bit wider, "As much as I appreciate your kind words, Sophia, you should thank Arthur—" He replied, "He's been keeping an eye on him for you."

Sophia flushed at his words, "I'll be sure to thank him then. I hope your hand heals quickly."

"I hope your shoulder heals quickly as well. We can't afford to have the both of us down. It's going to cause the camp to starve," He joked, "Or maybe it's just Pearson's cooking."

Sophia pursed her lips, giggling, "I'm going to say it's just a case of unfortunate events."

"Maybe so," He chuckled, "Take care, Sophia."

"Take care, Charles," she called out, turning back to Othello with a smile, "Have you been good to Mr. Morgan then?" The horse shook himself out, looking back to her with a grunt, "I'm gonna take that as a yes, 'Thello." She patted his shoulder, finding a snow covered brush lying on a post. Picking it up, she dusted off the snow and began to run it down the dapple's neck and shoulder, noticing his side had been stained red.

Her chest clenched at the sight of it, running the brush across it a few times to try and get rid of it. After a few minutes, she finally gave up on it, deciding then and there that she would have to wait until warmer weather to fully give Othello a decent bath—something that the horse thoroughly enjoyed, "I know you miss daddy, boy," she murmured to the horse, "He loved you since the first time he bought you…" Sophia walked back around his front, running the brush along his face, then paused, glancing to the horse's eyes and held her gaze, "I miss him too."

Tears welled in her eyes, "I told myself I wasn't gonna cry anymore," she whispered to the horse with a choked laugh, "I guess I'm a liar." Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Sophia continued to brush the horse down after hearing another set of footsteps approach.

"How did you manage to sneak away from Mrs. Grimshaw?" Arthur's amused voice asked from behind.

Sophia turned to the man, keeping the brush held to Othello's side, with a smile, "I didn't have to surprisingly enough; I'm just not allowed to do anything strenuous."

Arthur's gaze went to the dapple, "Brushing out Othello seems pretty strenuous to me," He held out a cup, "Brought you some coffee," he offered, nodding the brush in her hand, "Hand me the brush and I'll get the rest of him so you don't bust your stitches."

"Always the gentleman, Mr. Morgan," Sophia teased, handing over the brush to his free hand and taking the cup of coffee in her other. Amidst the exchange, his calloused hand clasped over hers in a gentle fashion—the both of them tensed. Sophia could feel her face flush, but she wasn't particularly sure if it was from the cold or from embarrassment.

Arthur's eyes widened a fraction; lips parted with a sharp inhale at the initial contact. He gently squeezed with his fingertips before taking the brush, "Sorry about that," he mumbled, moving past her to brush down the dapple's legs.

Sophia held the cup in both hands, dipping her chin with a tiny grin on her face, "You're fine," she replied taking a sip of the coffee and made a tiny sound of surprise, "Sugar? How'd you manage that?"

Arthur peered over his shoulder to her, "Pearson's been holding out, so I snuck some off of him. Figured you'd like that," Sophia took note of the half-smile tugging at his mouth before his hat obscured it when he turned his body to run the brush along Othello's belly. The stallion grunted with each stroke of the brush, eventually leaning forward into a stretch when Arthur reached the horse's inner thigh. He chuckled, patting the stallion's side, "You like that, boy?"

"I also wanted to thank you," Sophia began.

"Fo'what?" He asked, briefly looking up at her.

"For taking care of Othello while I was…you know," she spoke lightly.

Arthur shook his head, "I didn't do nothing you wouldn't have done for me, besides," he grunted, straightening himself up, "Everyone else helped as well."

"Charles says otherwise," Sophia pointed out from her recent conversation.

Arthur fell silent, holding his mouth a certain way when he knew he was caught in a lie, "Maybe that's what you thought you heard." He moved around to Othello's other side before Sophia could catch the further reddening of his face.

"What I heard was crystal clear," Sophia mused as she took another sip upon hearing Arthur grunt in reply as he began to brush down Othello's other side, "So, thank you." The dapple stallion had other plans for Arthur, careening his neck over the bent over man as he snatched Arthur's hat from off his head with a snort. Sophia nearly choked on her sip of coffee, covering her mouth to swallow, "Oh!"

"Hey!" Arthur straightened as soon as it happened, reaching for his hat, "Now, come on, boy." The horse bobbed his head with the hat in his mouth, pawing at the ground. Arthur reached for it once more, only for the dapple to raise his head as high as he could with a grunt. A few moments later, he dropped it on the other side where Sophia stood, nickering while Arthur shook his head, chuckling at the horse and scratched the back of his neck.

Sophia, having a hand held over her mouth to stifle her laughter, picked the hat up from the ground and dusted the snow off, "Othello, be good."

"Ah, don't jump onto him, Soph," Arthur ran a hand up the dapple's muzzle, watching as the horse's ears swiveled to the sounds of their voices, "He's just in a good mood. Aren't you, boy?" Othello shook himself out, allowing Arthur to finish brushing him out. Moving back around Othello, Arthur returned to where Sophia had stood, grinning at him with his hat in her hand and her cup of coffee in the other.

A part of him swore that smile of hers could light a dark room if it wanted to, and a part of him also knew she reserved that kind of smile for him. At least, he liked to think of it like that. He knew he had never seen her smile like that for anyone else, except maybe for Forrest, and that made him feel like he didn't need another thing in the world. Arthur cleared his throat, as well as the fog in his head, "That should do him for now."

Sophia handed him back his hat, "Thank you…again."

"Don't gotta thank me, Soph," he mumbled, taking his hat from her to put it back on. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, pulling out two. He offered one to Sophia, who graciously took it. Lighting a match, he lit hers first before his—watching as she took a drag off the cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke. Doing the same, he tossed the spent match, stepping on it with the toe of his boot, "How's the shoulder?"

Sophia lifted her good shoulder, "About as fun as a toothache," she lamented with a slow, stiff roll of her other, "These stitches, on the other hand, feels like that time we got into poison sumac."

Arthur shook his head with a grimace before laughing, "I don't think we had a place on our whole body that didn't itch."

"Or blistered," Sophia grimaced, remembering how miserable they were. All because of some high-society stagecoach was supposed to come through with expensive goods, "I've still got scars on my legs from that."

"That was the last time you wore a dress," Arthur chuckled out, bringing his cigarette to his lips, "and then you started stealing my shirts."

Smoke billowed from Sophia's lips, grinning slyly, "Still do."

"I am very much aware of your sly antics, Ms. Mason," He replied with a small grin, peering at the woman from under the brim of his hat, "I wanted to ask you something and…forgive me if I'm bein' crass."

Sophia arched a brow, humming.

"What happened in Blackwater?" he asked, watching as her face grew pale and hard.

"Everything turned to shit is what happened," she replied in a quiet tone, inhaling on her cigarette then gazed towards the mountains, "It was fine, and then…it was like hell opened up. Purely biblical on how catastrophic it was." Sophia shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment, replaying the events, "Desdemona got shot and I…lost her getting out of Blackwater…"

Arthur frowned deeply. She loved that horse much like he loved his mare Boadicea.

"I hung back with daddy, got shot twice trying to cover Dutch and the rest of them so that they could leave," She murmured, holding herself as she continued, "I didn't know daddy got shot until it was too late…stubborn son of a bitch; lost him when the storm first hit…"

Arthur shook his head. He was partially angry at himself for not being there and partially aghast at what he was hearing, "Sophia…"

Sophia shook her head slowly, allowing her gaze to drop to her boots, "Dutch lost his mind on that ferry, Arthur. It-it wasn't Dutch. He shot a woman…in a bad way."

"Javier said about the same thing back when we were finding John," Arthur spoke, earning a small nod from his friend.

Sophia blew out a sigh, "All that matters now, is that we're all here, and we're safe...I just wonder how much longer Dutch wants to wait here…" Bringing her cigarette to her lips, she inhaled, the end of her cigarette flaring to a fiery red.

"Heard from one of O'Driscoll's boys that there was a train coming through soon," Arthur replied on his exhale, earning an interested glance from Sophia as she exhaled. He shook his head, "I know what you're thinkin', Soph, and there's no way you're going when it goes down." Sophia pursed her lips with a defiant look in her eye, "Don't you give me that look either."

"You asking or you telling?" She asked with an arched brow, her cigarette hanging out of her lip for a moment before she held it between her index finger and thumb. Smoke billowed out of her nose like the sleeping dragon in the tale of King Arthur.

Arthur raised his brows at the question; his lips had parted as if to say something in response, however he found no words to counteract hers. He shifted his weight in his feet, swallowing at the sudden dryness in his mouth, "I'm…I'm asking you not to," He spoke slowly, reaching to run the pad of his thumb down her chin, thinking hard about his next few words. His gaze met hers and held it, licking his dry lips, "Just don't want you to get hurt more than what you already are, sweetheart."

Sophia held her mouth in a thin line, knowing that it would be a few more weeks of resting until her shoulder would be fully healed. In turn, Sophia placed a hand on his stubbly cheek, running her thumb across his skin, "If I didn't care about what you had to say, I'd say you were a fool, Arthur Morgan."

Arthur let out a breathy laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling, "What you talkin' about? I already am a fool, Soph."

"I don't see it," she replied with a soft chuckle, glancing over his softened expression. Running the pad of her thumb across his cheek once more, she rose on her toes to kiss him gently on the cheek, "Thank you, Arthur," she murmured, placing her cheek to his for a moment.

His body tensed against hers, "What for?" He watched for a moment as she gazed back at him, her eyes flitting across his face, smiling. He noticed her chin tremble slightly, earning a worried look.

"You just don't realize how much I appreciate you…" Her voice wavered, despite still smiling, "Daddy loved you, Arthur, and I lo—," she let out a soft laugh to stave off that god awful knot in her throat, "I know that he's resting with momma knowing that I'm not really alone as long as you're here…I just…I thought I'd tell you that."

Arthur enveloped Sophia in his arms, holding the back of her head with a hand, and wrapped an arm around her waist. She laid her head against his chest in their embrace while he rested his cheek against her head, closing his eyes as he battled his own emotions, "Forrest was a good man," he finally spoke, "Is a good man," he then added. Gazing down to Sophia, Arthur felt his stomach twist and knot, "What I don't understand is why you and him think so highly of me...There's nothin' about me that's good."

Sophia furrowed her brows at him, "You're every bit a good man, Arthur," she replied, "I've seen what kind of things you've done," he averted his gaze to the space between them, "but I've done those same things, too. That don't make me no better of a person either, but damn it, Arthur, at least give yourself some credit."

Her words were met with silence, save for the sounds of the horses and Pearson tinkering around in the covered shed across from them. She threw her cigarette to the ground, putting it out with the toe of her boot, frowning deeply at Arthur, "You've got more good in you than bad…and if that wasn't the case, then…then you wouldn't be going out of your way to take care of my horse while I'm down, or finding that new book back in town for me when I couldn't, or bringing me a bouquet of wildflowers because you thought they looked nice beside my cot."

Arthur did do those things for her when it was clearly evident that he didn't have to. Once again, he hated to admit to himself that he loved her.

" Arthur," her voice went low as tears welled in her eyes, earning a wince from him. Her mouth formed a thin line as she placed her hand on his cheek once again, then shook her head slowly at his shame-faced expression when he finally met her gaze once more, "You are a good man, Arthur…I…I can't stand to see how badly you view yourself."

Arthur shook his head, taking a step back from her, "Then stop."

Sophia blinked at him, confused, "Stop what, Arthur?"

"This," he gestured to her after placing her hands to her sides, "Stop tryin' to act like you give a damn when nobody else does."

"I do," Sophia's words were fragile like the icicles on the roofs of the buildings, "I always have."

Arthur shook his head, scowling at her, "I don't need anyone to give a damn about me, Sophia. I didn't need anyone to then, and I don't need them to now."

Sophia battled the wounded expression on her face, glancing to the ground before she nodded, taking a sharp intake of air, meeting his scowl. Her jaw clenched, Sophia dumped the rest of the coffee at her feet then walked by him, shoving the cup into his gut where he caught it, "Fuck you, Morgan…" Her voice was raw with emotion, swiping at her face as her bad shoulder collided with his.

Arthur watched her walk quickly into the building she had been in with her shoulder clutched, the door slamming shut behind her. He let out a heavy sigh, feeling his chest clench with disgust as he swiped away a few tears that escaped. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he'd hurt her, and judging by the look in her eyes, he had.

He had to.

It was the only way that he knew to keep her from getting hurt—and himself—cause God only knew anyone he loved wound up leaving him one way or another. Arthur couldn't bear to lose Sophia like that. Especially not like Eliza and Isaac anyhow, and in this lifestyle, it was an everyday fear of his. It was precisely why he hadn't acted on his feelings sooner. What made matters worse for him, was the letter that remained tucked away in his journal that was tucked away in his coat pocket.

"Forrest, I can't do that to her," he muttered, pulling the brim of his hat down after casting a glance to the overcast sky, "I just hope you understand."

Walking to the covered shed, Pearson rose from his seat with a cough, "We're gonna starve to death up here, Mr. Morgan," he rubbed his hands after holding them above the red embers for warmth.

"We're okay," he replied in a curt tone, moving to the other side of the shed to warm his hands as Pearson moved to the table to throw more items into the cast iron kettle.

"We have a few cans of food and a rabbit, for what? Ten, twelve people?" Pearson questioned, turning back to him with heavy sigh, "When I was in the Navy…"

Arthur stepped away from the coals, shaking his head at the older man, "I-I do not wish to hear about you go up to in the Navy, Mr. Pearson," he peered into the kettle to see what Pearson had in it. Whatever it was didn't look too appetizing.

"We were stranded at sea for fifty days," Mr. Pearson spoke, dumping quarters of a rabbit into the kettle.

"And you unfortunately survived…" Arthur interrupted with splayed hands.

Mr. Pearson sighed, "When we ran away from Blackwater, I wasn't able to get supplies in," He picked up the cast iron kettle with a grunt, taking it over to the hot coals, hanging it.

Arthur followed behind, splaying his hands as he spoke, "Well, when government agents are hunting you down sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short," he let them fall at his sides, "We'll survive. We always have…" Pearson moved back to the table, reaching for the cooking ladle, "but if needs be, we can eat you…you're the fattest."

"I sent Lenny and Bill hunting and they found nothing," Mr. Pearson told him in a grave tone.

Arthur returned his hands to the embers as Charles walked under the shed, joining them, "Well, Lenny's more into book learning than hunting; Bill's a fool," he commented, "Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read," he gestured to the mountains as he continued to speak, "ain't no wonder they found—"

"Enough of this," Charles interrupted, giving both men a look, "We'll go find something," he gestured to the horses, "Come on, Arthur." Charles moved to leave until Pearson held up a hand.

"Wait a second, hold on," he said quickly, moving back over to the table once again to pick something off the table, "Here," he tossed it to Arthur, "you're gonna need something to eat out there."

Catching it, he looked it over, soon wrinkling his nose at it, "Assorted salted offal," he looked up from the label, glancing to Charles then to Pearson, "Starving would be preferable."

"Come on, let's go," Charles insisted, holding his hand.

Arthur shook his head, "You can't go hunting, look at your hand."

"I can't stay here and listen to you two," Charles countered, "Look, I would've gotten Sophia to join me, but, neither of us are able to pull back a bow," he gauged the look that dashed across Arthur's face at the mention of her, "If there's game in those hills, I'll find it and you'll kill it."

Arthur shifted himself to face Charles, "As I've advised Sophia—you need to rest, Charles."

"You think this is rest?" Charles questioned with a scoff. Arthur slowly shook his head, "Come along." Both men walked out to the horses, where Charles handed Arthur his bow, "Here, you take this."

Arthur looked to Charles, then to the bow with uncertainty.

"I can't use it and you'll have to," he continued.

"Oh, you're joking," Arthur held the weapon in his hands, looking it over as it he walked over to the newly acquired paint he got back from over at Sadie Adler's old homestead a few days ago.

Charles mounted the appaloosa, "Use a gun and we'll scare off every animal for miles around," he looked over to Arthur as he mounted his horse, "You're never too old to learn, I imagine."

Arthur glanced to the bow once more before strapping it across his shoulder, throwing a glance to the building where Sophia had entered a while ago—giving it a double-take at the thought of seeing her standing near a window, looking out.

"Alright, let's head out," Charles called out, already a few feet ahead of him on Taima.

Arthur dug his heels into the paint, following behind Charles at an easy pace. Having ridden out of camp and through the small clearing before it, they crossed a stream—water sloshing and splashing from the horses, "How are you holding up, Charles?"

"I'm okay, apart from this hand," he replied, "Stupid mistake."

"Still bad?" Arthur asked, glancing over to the man.

Nodding, Charles flexed his injured hand slowly, "It will be fine in a day or two. I just can't pull a bow right now."

Arthur frowned with uncertainty at the task that lay before him, "I sure hope I can. I never really got the hang of it—Sophia though, she's a hell of shot."

"You'll be fine," Charles reassured casting a glance to Arthur from Taima, "Sophia is a big help to the group."

"That she is," Arthur murmured, feeling the same painful clench in his chest from earlier, "So," he blew out a breath, shoving the thoughts back, "you reckon we're gonna find something to kill that ain't an O'Driscoll?"

Charles let out a dry laugh from up ahead as their horses trotted easily along the river, "There's meat up here for sure. Pearson doesn't know what he's talking about." He glanced to the sky, observing it for a moment, "Now that the weather's eased off a bit, they'll be needing to feed."

They came to another river crossing, one that would've led them back to what used to be the Adler homestead. Charles gestured to the left, "We'll head up this way. Find some higher ground."

A shiver ran throughout Arthur's body, the cold easily creeping in the longer he remained out, "Been a wild few days alright…that ride north from Blackwater, getting stuck in this storm, bringing John back in…"

"You've had a lot put on you," Charles responded with a somber tone, "I wish I could have done more."

"I didn't mean it like that, just…a lot to think back on," Arthur restated.

And it was a lot to think back on. There had been more added to the list as sure as the sun above hung in the sky that it made his head spin.

"I still don't really know what happened on that boat," Charles admitted.

"Me neither," came his reply, "Well, Javier and Sophia told me a bit, but…it sure weren't good."

***Sometime later, the sun had peeked through the wall of clouds once more causing white blankets of snow to glitter like precious stones, just as a light showering of snow from above did the same. Seeing the sun was just a glimmer of hope. Perhaps it meant that warmer days were beginning to come. Around them, patches of grass had pushed through their icy prison waiting for the sun's rays to melt the ice and snow.

"There's some patches of grass here," Charles pointed out with a hint of relief in his voice, "This is good." He veered a hard right, heading down a slope, "Come on, let's try this way. Keep your eyes peeled for movement." Taima snorted, shaking her head as she held a decent pace, "The wind's died down too."

Arthur furrowed his brows in confusion, "And that's good?"

"No wind at all is bad," Charles explained, "but if it's too strong, they won't move. Now, shh. Stay quiet." His eyes scanned ahead, searching for signs of life in the distance.

Arthur did the same, but he wasn't nearly the hunter Charles is.

"Hey," Charles had noticed something, slowing Taima down to a mere walk, "stop here a second. I see something." He dismounted, moving forward in the snow with upmost care of his foot placement. Squatting down, he reached out, touching the ground, "There's deer been here…and recently."

Having dismounted and clutching the bow, Arthur joined him, crouching and observing for whatever Charles had laid eyes on, "How can you tell?"

Charles huffed at his question, "How can you not?" He straightened up, meeting Arthur's inquisitive gaze, "We'll walk it from here."

Arthur gave the man a nod, keeping the bow in his hand as a precautionary step.

"Keep down," Charles instructed him with an even tone of voice, "Move quietly and slowly. Can you see the tracks?"

Arthur turned his eyes to the ground, uncertain of what he even needed to look for. Sure, there were tracks in the snow, but they were theirs and their horses. He tilted his head, "I think so…maybe not."

"Focus," Charles insisted, gesturing to a faint line in the snow, "That's a trail made by the deer. If we can follow that a ways, I'm sure we'll end up catching up to them."

"Sure thing," Arthur commented, allowing his eyes to follow the trail through a small thicket.

"It's easier in the snow, but once you get your eye in, you'll be able to track nearly as well in grass and woods."

Moving forward in silence, Arthur hunkered close to the ground, following the trail. Every now and then, he'd stop to listen for signs of movement and look ahead for any signs of life. To him, as he kept following, he felt as if this whole tracking business was getting slightly easier, but like Charles said, tracking was much easier in the snow. Having topped out on a small crest, he had come to a group of evergreens.

"Wait, look," Charles whispered, dragging Arthur's attention from the ground. He glanced to the man, seeing that he was gesturing to something up ahead. Following his arm, his breath hitched in his throat, catching sight of what looked like a fairly young deer—a yearling doe. A more mature doe stepped out from behind thick brush, touching its nose to the smaller doe. It was a beautiful sight, "There they are. Are you ready with that bow?"

Arthur could've cussed at himself for not being ready. Quiet, he knocked the arrow that Charles had supplied him, drawing the string back. Having watched Sophia shoot, he had picked up on small things she did that helped her easily hit her mark. He placed the knuckle of his thumb at the corner of his mouth, aiming the bow at the mass of the mature doe.

"Try to hit them in the head or neck—quick and clean," Charles explained.

Slowly, he moved his arrow to the thickest point of the doe's neck, letting out a slow breath while he let go of the string. The arrow shot forward, seconds later, hitting something with a muffled thwack! The doe jumped, sprinting into the cover of the trees.

The sound of twigs and branches breaking shortly after was met with a deafening silence.

"Shit," Arthur muttered, letting the bow fall to his side, "I didn't hit it."

Charles held his gaze on where the doe had stood, slowly shaking his head, "I'm not so sure, Arthur. I want to go take a better look—come on." He urged, moving amongst the trees, quiet. Arthur followed behind; sure that he didn't hit anything.

He was wrong. Approaching the spot, blood was splattered along the ground, steaming from the heat.

"You hit it, Arthur," Charles smiled, following the blood trail into the trees where his smile widened, "Look."

The doe didn't make it far into the tree line, lying in the snow, still.

Charles clapped a hand on his shoulder, "Good job, Arthur. I'll go get the horses. See if you can get another one."

Arthur gazed at Charles, bewildered, "You sure about that?"

"Of course I am," Charles replied in a confident tone, "You had good shot placement on this doe. I'm positive you'll be able to get another."***

Sophia stood at the window, staring out absentmindedly with a cigarette in her hand. Having an arm wrapped around her middle, she rested her elbow on her wrist placing the butt of the cigarette to her lips as she inhaled, listening to the hushed conversations in the room. Hosea and Herr Strauss had been talking more about the potential move to the East. Abigail had Jack by her side, reading him chapters from The Jungle Book. John was lying on the cot asleep. Tilly, Karen, and Mary Beth were conversing amongst themselves about how hungry they were and if the cold was ever going to end.

She often wondered it herself. This cold was unbearable at times, often causing her shoulder to throb as the temperatures plummeted at night. She often huddled amongst the group of ladies for warmth by the fire if she got too cold. To be able to enjoy the warmth of mid-spring and early summer was all but a few weeks away. Her mind had darted to a hundred different things she had already planned on doing when they left this mountain.

Bathing Othello was top of her list. The way his coat looked after a good scrubbing was like looking at a statue until Othello deemed a patch of sand the best place to roll around in. Sophia smirked, knowing how goofy that horse was.

A warm bath with a bottle of whiskey in her hand was second on her list. If one would play an overture from Beethoven—she would have a fine evening to herself in the closest hotel. Perhaps even find a new book to read.

The spring thaw couldn't get here quick enough.

"Seein' anything interesting out there, Mason?" John's gravelly voice pulled her away from her thoughts.

Sophia turned her gaze to the bandaged man lying in a cot near her, "If you consider several feet of snow, interesting…then, yes. Quite." John grimaced, gesturing her over to assist him. She arched a brow, "You shouldn't be trying to get up."

He glowered at her for a moment, scoffing as she pulled him to sit up, "Says the stubborn mule with a lame shoulder."

Sophia pursed her lips, punching him in the shoulder with her good arm, "You're one to talk, dog food," John chuckled, rubbing his shoulder with a bandaged hand as she took a seat beside him. Pulling out her pack of cigarettes, she held it out to John after taking another one out.

He glanced at her, taking the pack from her hand and placed a cigarette between his lips, watching as she lit the end of her new cigarette with her old one, handing it to him. He did the same, tossing it to the ground and put it out with the heel of his boot, "Trouble in paradise?"

"What makes you say that?" Sophia questioned, smoke billowing from her mouth and nose.

John slouched against the wall, straightening his legs with a grimace, "The only time you smoke like a train is when you're bored or pissed, and seein' how you came in like a tornado earlier—I'm going to say you're both."

Sophia's lips curved into a half-smile, looking down at her hands. They were grimy looking; bruised, battered, scraped up, and scarred. Her nails were gnawed into the quick in some places, while her palms were cracked and calloused, "To think the wolves got what's left of your brain is an understatement, Marston," her voice grew softer, "To be frank, I'm not pissed…I'm…" she trailed off, thinking of a proper word for how she felt.

"You're hurt," John finished her sentence, blowing out a stream of smoke. He watched it dissipate for a moment, turning his head to look at her fully, "Which leads me to one of two things…Forrest," he gauged her expression at the mention of her father's name, "Or your cowpoke in shining armor."

Sophia's eyes widened, choking on smoke, "Damn you, John," she coughed, casting the man a glare as he sat beside her with a smug expression, "I ain't hurt over neither…" She lied, "it's just…"

"A lot to take in. I get it," John shrugged minutely, bringing the cigarette to his lips again, inhaling as his gaze went to Abigail and Jack, "She expects a lot out of me…"

Sophia nodded, "I know."

John shook his head with furrowed brows, "What about you?"

Her mouth formed at line, tilting her head, "What about me?"

He shrugged, "I don't know…" he turned his head to her once again, "What should I do?"

"You want the truth or the lie, Marston?" She questioned.

"The truth, I guess," John replied, flicking his hands minutely as he spoke.

Sophia shifted in her seat, looking to Abigail and Jack with a heavy sigh, "Stop acting like Jack is a disease, and start being a father," She caught the withering glare from John; "You wanted the truth, Marston, now you're gonna listen," Sophia brought the cigarette to her lips, "You're missin' out on things you shouldn't be missin' out on, John…all because of what? Pride? Doubt? Fear?" John bowed his head, "Abigail has a past—we all know it—but she chose you, John. You're taking the girl for granted and at the end of the day, you're hurting Jack."

"Don't you think I know that already?" he replied, heated.

Sophia shrugged, "You asked for my opinion, I gave you it. What you make of it, is purely your choice."

John let out a heavy sigh, flipping the ashes off his cigarette, "You know he'll come around."

Sophia looked over to John with furrowed brows, "What?"

"Arthur," John stated, meeting her confused expression, "He'll come around. He's stubborn, but the big guy has a soft spot for you."

Sophia shook her head at that, "As much as I appreciate the words of encouragement, John…ain't no one interested in a worn out mule like me," her mouth tipped into a half-smile, "Someone'll have to put me down in no time once I'm no use to anyone."

John began to chuckle, "Give it time. You'll see."

"What? Putting me down?" She questioned.

"N-no. Arthur," John stuttered, "and I'm supposed to be the dumbass," he muttered, smirking after Sophia scoffed, nudging him with her bad arm and winced, "Dumbass."

***Arthur walked upon a smaller doe, shouldering the bow Charles had loaned him, "You sure your hand's okay?" He called out, kneeling beside the animal.

"It'll be fine once I get it on my shoulder," Charles called out from across the creek, having gutted the larger doe in order to lighten the carcass for the trip back to camp, "Be sure to leave the heart and liver, Arthur, it's the most nutritious meat in the deer."

"Alright then," he responded, unsheathing his knife from his waist after rolling the smaller doe onto it's back. Slicing from the bottom of its ribcage, down; its innards spilled out easily from the force of gravity in a wet heap. Pulling down on the stomach, Arthur took his knife, cutting it away and part of the diaphragm; leaving the liver, heart, and lungs intact.

Grabbing the back legs, Arthur drug the carcass downhill until he made it to the creek, kneeling on its banks to rid his blade and hands of blood. The burst of cold made his hands ache, making quick work of the residue. Sheathing the knife, he held his hands under his arms for a moment to keep them from freezing further.

"You about ready?" Charles approached him, leading Taima with the larger doe secured.***

"Ready to head back when you are," He replied, pulling his gloves back on, and pulled the carcass onto his shoulder. The paint stood patiently on the other side, grunting, after he placed the carcass on its hindquarters; tying it securely.

"Come on then, let's head back," Charles replied.

Mounting up, Arthur and Charles rode back up the trail with ease. The sun had all but appeared through the clouds, the temperature overall seemed like it had warmed considerably within the last little bit. Arthur felt a great deal of accomplishment.

"Nice work, Arthur," Charles spoke from Taima, "Should be enough meat here to keep us all fed for a few days."

"You found 'em," Arthur responded, meeting the man's smirk.

"I knew you'd be okay with that bow," He affirmed, keeping pace with Arthur's paint.

Arthur chuckled, "It's easier when they ain't shooting back."

Charles laughed good-naturedly, "We've seen enough of that."

"Considering how things were looking a couple of days back, maybe our luck is finally on the turn."

Charles hummed, "Seems to me like we need to be putting our effort into getting off this mountain now," he then suggested.

It wasn't like the man was wrong either. Deep down, Arthur knew the thaw was beginning. He knew that everyone in camp was getting anxious to move—himself included, "Soon," Arthur replied as they crossed over from the left side of the creek to the right, "People are still weak and you've seen how snowed in some of the wagons are…we ain't going nowhere until we get some more thaw."

Charles hummed again, "You're probably right," he surmised, "And, even if we do get off here, what then?" He questioned, "We'll still have a big price on our heads."

Once more, the man wasn't wrong, "This is a big country," Arthur spoke easily, "We'll find somewhere to lie low; Dutch and Hosea will have a plan." His words seemed more of a reassurance to himself than toward Charles. The paint whinnied, pausing a beat to rear minutely, "Woah," he patted the horse in reassurance, catching up to Charles, "You noticed how Pearson's had a bottle in his hand ever since we left Blackwater? We give the camp cook five minutes to grab the essentials and go, and he doesn't even bring a crumb of food."

"Good that we caught more than one," Charles replied, "A lot of mouths to feed."

"And that girl from the ranch now too, but…not sure she'll be eating much," He commented, knowing that she's stricken with grief over the murder of her husband.

"She has a wild look in her eye," Charles spoke with caution.

"You would too," Arthur replied, "She lost her husband, her home…everything she had."

"So what do we do with her?" Charles questioned, casting a wary glance to Arthur.

They passed through a group of trees, into a clearing.

"Once we get out of here, and back on our feet, we'll see," He responded in a nonchalant tone, "She might have family somewhere."

"So, it was the O'Driscoll's you ran into there?" Charles asked, perturbed.

"Yeah," Arthur responded with a chuckle, "last thing we was expecting."

"What is it with the O'Driscolls?" He asked, genuinely curious.

Arthur blinked, almost in disbelief, "You ain't dealt with them?" He tilted his head as they came over a crest, "I suppose we ain't ran into them much in the last six months, but I guess it's because they've been over this way."

"Yeah," Charles agreed, "I've heard a lot of talk about them."

"Well…" Arthur began, "We've been scrapping scores with them for years," he explained, "A big gang—nasty sons of bitches. Their leader, Colm, and Dutch go way back, and not in a good way," Arthur shook his head at the long history between the gangs, "A proper blood feud."

"So I've heard," Charles responded in a grave tone. Rounding the bend, their horses slowed to a halt, pawing at the ground anxiously and chomped that their bits. Charles and Arthur looked ahead to see why—a grizzly had come out of hibernation to forage the river bank, "Let's see if we can find another way around."

Arthur considered the bear for a moment, "He's got a lot of meat on him."

"We've got enough here," Charles replied, "No need to push our luck."

"Can't say I disagree with ya, Charles," Arthur's gaze moved across the layout of the terrain, keeping a watchful eye on the bear as it sifted through the snow in search of morsels. A burst of adrenaline caused him to shift in his saddle from hearing the bear grumble and groan to itself.

"He must be real hungry," Charles murmured, watching the animal closely as well, "Stay well back," He warned, "Spring storms like this are the worst for animals that sleep all winter," They hung back for a few moments, watching the hunger-fueled bruin mosey back up the slope, to which they hung a sharp right, "Cut up here, off the trail."

Despite being spooked, the paint ascended choppily behind Taima, grunting and shaking its head. Arthur couldn't much blame the horse for being that way. He guessed if he were in its place, he'd be the same way. Hell, he felt pretty antsy from the encounter himself, and he had weapons at his disposal.

Having bypassed the bear completely, Arthur rode easily beside Charles, "We ain't never talked much, you and me. How long have you been with us now? Five, six months?"

"Something like that," Charles replied, nonchalant.

Arthur chuckled, "Bet you didn't expect this."

"What?"

Arthur shrugged, "Any of this," he replied vaguely, "The Blackwater mess, being up here…"

"Ah," Charles nodded, understanding, "Sooner or later, a job's going to go wrong. Nature of life."

Arthur shrugged inwardly, "Just thought you might have moved on by now."

Charles looked over to Arthur, brow arched, "You want me to move on?"

He shook his head, "No, no. Not at all, just…" He fumbled over his words, "I know you can run it alone, no problem."

"I did that for a long time," Charles spoke, "I'm done with it, always wondering if someone's going to kill you in your sleep."

Arthur grinned at his words, "I still wonder that most nights."

Charles chuckled in return, "I reckon you're okay…this suits me," They crossed the river and into a clearing, coming over another hill, "Sure, I could fall in with another gang, but Dutch…you know…Dutch is different."

"Oh yes," Arthur agreed wholeheartedly, "Dutch is certainly different."

"He treats me fair," Charles commented, "Most of you do," he added, "And for a fellow with a black father and an Indian mother, that ain't normally the case."

"Well, we need you now," Arthur told him honestly, "more than ever."

Charles nodded, "Good…and how long have you been with these boys? Why ain't you run off?"

Arthur felt taken aback at Charles' question, "Me?" He asked awkwardly, thinking about his answer, "Twenty years, something like that…Since I was a boy."

"Twenty years?" Charles' tone was thick was shock.

Arthur smiled to himself, prideful of his time with Dutch and the others, "Yeah…he taught me to read. John too. Taught me a few other things, him and Hosea. Forrest and Lily helped some too."

"I'm sure," Charles' reply was humble, "And what about Sophia and Forrest?"

Arthur knit his brows, peering at the man under the brim of his hat with skepticism, "What about them?"

"What's their story?" He asked.

Arthur tilted his head, scrubbing at his chin with the back of his thumb as he pushed a breath through his nose, "They've been around longer than I have," He caught Charles' surprised expression, chuckling, "Oh yeah. Forrest and his family have been around since the beginning."

"That's…impressive," Charles commented, "And Forrest was married, correct?"

Arthur's lips pulled into a solemn frown, "Lily Mason was her name," He felt a pang of grief in his chest, "Forrest loved her as sure as the sky is blue, and Lily loved them both—the whole group in fact. She made sure that everyone was fed and warm. I only got to know her for a short time, but I consider her close to something of a mother."

"She sounded like a good person," Charles replied, earning a soft chuckle from Arthur.

"When she died, I thought for sure Forrest was going to drink himself to death," Arthur hesitated, "It was a bad time for all of us. She and Mrs. Grimshaw were close. It wasn't long after, Forrest gained his bearings and started getting Sophia into everything with the group."

"So, is it true about her?" He asked.

Arthur threw Charles a wary glance, "Is what true about her?" His voice hardened.

"Heard from some of the guys that she got into a fight with a bobcat and killed it with her bare hands," Charles replied with a smirk, earning a hearty laugh from Arthur.

"That horseshit's been around since Marston came into the picture," Arthur laughed, "They went out hunting one day and came back with a bobcat and a turkey—Sophia's obviously scratched up. Marston swears to this day that Sophia killed it with her bare hands. Since then, he's called her Wildcat, and it's just stuck."

By then, Charles began to laugh, "It sounds like you have some interesting stories about her."

"Oh, this don't begin to cover half of it," Arthur replied, smiling more to himself, "Sophia is in more ways than one, her mother's child, and then in more ways than one, you can tell she's Forrest's kid. Tougher'n hell and definitely someone I'd trust my life with. You couldn't ask for a better person," In fact, anything he was saying didn't begin to cover the half of what he thought about Sophia or her father. There wasn't enough good things that could be said, "Dutch saved me…he save most of us," Arthur concluded as they began to cross another part of the creek, "That's why we need to stick by him through this. He always sees us right."

"How's that new horse?" Charles asked, gesturing to the paint.

Arthur patted the side of the paint's neck, "He's alright," he commented, "He'll do for now. I appreciate you letting me take Taima the other night."

"She's a strong one," Charles replied with a smile of adoration towards the mare, "It's been as hard on the horses as on the rest of us. I don't know what Dutch would do if something happened to the Count."

"Same with Bill and Brown Jack," Arthur chuckled out catching the faint outline of the camp up ahead, "He's a drunk, miserable bastard, but…he loves that horse."

"I hope they all make it," Charles spoke with sincerity in his voice.

"I tried to ride the Count once," Arthur reminisced with a hearty chuckle, "bucked me faster than a bull. Won't take nobody but him."

Charles chuckled, "I'm going to hitch Taima over here."

"Brought some food back boys," Arthur announced, hitching the paint closer to Pearson's shed, "Come on, let's get these over to Pearson," He slid the deer carcass over onto his shoulder, "Oh, and thank you for showing me how to use a bow properly."

"I only showed you a little," Charles replied, moving the carcass onto his shoulder with a grunt, "Takes a lifetime of practice to master." Both men packed the deer over to Pearson, who stood by idly, impressed at their haul.

"Well, well, well," Pearson greeted them, "Just drop it down here," he gestured to the ground in front of him.

Arthur let the carcass fall to the ground, straightening up to see Uncle sitting near the coals warming up, "What a surprise," He spoke working out the stiffness in his shoulder, "to find the camp rat loitering around in the kitchen."

Uncle leaned forward, splaying his hands out to the coals for warmth, "Is that anyway to greet an old friend? I feel like we ain't spoken in a few days."

Arthur fixed a narrowed gaze to the older man, "I do my upmost to avoid you."

Uncle chuckled, gesturing a hand to Arthur as he spoke to Charles, "He loves me really…It's his sad way of showing affection."

"No, it isn't," Arthur rolled his eyes, beginning to feel warmth in his hands return.

Uncle grinned, a mischevious glint holding its place in his eyes, "Too bad I'm not Miss. Sophia, or I'd be getting the goo-goo eyes and a smootchy-smooch on the cheek."

Arthur made a sound of agitation, shaking his head, "You've drunk so much you've been confusing your hallucinations and dreams with reality, old man."

Uncle and Pearson began to laugh heartily, exchanging knowing glances to each other and to Charles, "If I was in my prime, I'd marry that girl in a heartbeat," Uncle teased, eating this moment up, "A woman that hunts, fishes, and can drink? A woman after my own heart." He let out a teasing dreamy sigh earning a glare from Arthur.

"I've heard enough out of you," Arthur muttered, "Now shoot, get lost!"

Uncle rose to his feet, chuckling, "Well, see you gents later. I'm off to see Miss. Sophia; at least she's nice to me."

Arthur scoffed, shifting his shoulders in a sorry attempt to rid himself of Uncle's brought on irritation, "Don't let her kindness fool you, she just feels sorry for you." Uncle chuckled heartily once more before leaving the shelter of the shed. Charles and Pearson remained near the fire momentarily.

"See you got on just fine," Pearson gestured to the pair of doe.

"Charles is a wonder," Arthur complemented.

Mr. Pearson held out a bottle of liquor, "Have a drink boys…you earned it."

Arthur took it from him, pressing the bottle to his lips and washed down the dryness in his mouth. Like a hot slap, he winced, feeling the liquid slide down leaving a burning wake.

"Jesus, what is that?" He questioned, handing it to Charles, who took a swallow of liquor.

Pearson grinned, "Navy rum, sir. It's the only thing…the only thing," he chuckled, taking it from Charles, "Keeps you sane, it does," He took a seat, taking a healthy swallow of it himself.

"Yes, seems to have done a treat on you," Arthur quipped, watching the man drink it like water, "You go rest that hand, Charles,"

"I'll be fine in a few days," Charles replied.

Pearson gestured to the deer on the ground, "You mind helping me with the skinning, Mr. Morgan?" Arthur glanced to the carcasses, "It's easier if we do it together."

"Do I get to skin you?" Arthur questioned with an arched brow.

Pearson chuckled until he coughed, turning his head; "You're always one with the jokes aren't you?" He rose to his feet, "Come on."

"This really isn't the job for a man with a burnt hand. I'll see you both later," Charles spoke before heading out.

Pearson walked over to the carcass on the table, gesturing to the one on the ground, "You skin the one y-you dumped on the floor there—it shouldn't take us long. It'll be quick work." Arthur moved from his place by the coals over to the deer carcass where he made quick work of the hide, "Not too bad, Mr. Morgan," Pearson commented, watching as Arthur handed him the hide, "Yeah, they always said you were a butcher," The man held out the hide, inspecting it with a hum, "You know you can trade these or sell these in pretty much any town…," Pearson rambled on, wrapping the hide in on itself, "if you're looking to make a legitimate bit of money of course." He added, setting it on the table.

"Right now, I'm just looking to get off this mountain alive," Arthur replied, stepping over the newly skinned carcass to the table.

"Yeah, well, if you happen to catch anything else…" Pearson grunted, placing the first carcass onto a hanger. Arthur patted him on the shoulder, stepping away, "you bring it to me."

"Sure," Arthur picked up the carcass, hanging it up for Pearson.

"Thank you, Mr. Morgan," Pearson said, stepping back admiring the new supply of meat, "Heck, Arthur Morgan's first decent bit of hunting, after all these years."

"Yeah, well, we're on the run now…" He commented, keeping a hand on the carcass before he stepped back, glancing out to the snowy landscape, "everyone's gotta do their bit to survive. Just make a good stew, folk need it...it's been a tough few days."

"Sure thing," Pearson replied, bending to pick up the second carcass, "and Mr. Morgan…" Arthur paused, arching his brow at the plump man with a mischievous glint in his eye, "Give my regards to Miss. Sophia."

Arthur shook his head, muttering curses under his breath as he left the laughing man to his work. After what seemed like a productive, somewhat warm day—blustery, cold wind had picked back up, sending a series of shivers through his body. He cast a glance to the building perpendicular to him, pulling his jacket closer to him for warmth. A part of him knew it would be foolish to try and speak to Sophia, especially after the stunt he pulled.

He knew he'd hurt her immensely. He regretted his words the second they poured from his mouth. He also knew full and well to give a woman like her space and plenty of time to cool off. Hell, Arthur had witnessed plenty of naive men fall under her crosshairs after pissing her off, learning quickly that she wouldn't roll over and show belly to no one.

She hadn't earned the name Wildcat just because John Marston believes she killed one with her bare hands—which he wouldn't put it past her for a second—her versatility, dependability, and spirit were what earned her it.

As of right now, he was under no exception.

Not that he blamed her.

He pushed out a heavy breath, scratching under his chin, "You damned, old fool," Arthur shook his head, moving toward the men's cabin.

This concludes chapter 3!

I do not own RDR2 or its characters. I do own Sophia and Forrest.

I'm also not quite sure if I'm going in order with the game. I do know that you can choose either mission around the same time. I guess it falls under whomever's preference, as this is the order I went in. I do hope that you guys enjoyed it though. I did try to be considerate of you guys. I know hunting is a touchy subject for some, as well as the aftercare of the carcass, but I will say that there are some flaws going on in that aspect, but for the sake of the game, I get it.

I also want to announce that I will be posting this on AO3 very soon. I will continue posting here, on Fanfiction dot net though. I've noticed the RDR following seem to be a bit widespread on AO3, Wattpad, and on Tumblr as opposed to here. I guess I'm just old fashioned with Fanfiction dot net. (;

I also had a question...we all know Old Friends involves a big shootout with the O'Driscolls. In reality, Sophia would be out of commission for a while after being shot in the shoulder due to damage and the possibility of infection setting up (a lot of factors), but for story's sake, what is everyone's thoughts on Dutch making her go with them? I'd like to hear your thoughts!

KyraSif-Thank so much for the review! This really made my day to read it. I feel like in a way, Arthur would try to ignore it for a short time, kind of like denying it even when he knows-possibly even going as far as to try and distance himself...which he also knows it probably won't work.

Abigail-Thank you so much! It really means a lot to read that! I'll do my absolute best to keep up! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Panda-Thank you so much for your kind words! I've actually been thinking about posting on there as well! I already requested an invite, so hopefully I'll recieve my invite soon! (: