The scowling man continued to say nothing. Birch bit their lip, becoming more and more agitated. The green scarf was pulled closer to their face, and their fingers began nervously twitching. With a shrug, they finally demanded, "So?" Was there nothing he wanted to ask? After all the hassle?
When he got off his horse, Birch had the same thought as back in the lake: the man was huge. Like a tree. The childish side imagined climbing the man. The instinct for self-preservation reminded to stay cautious.

The stranger took a step back and slightly hunching on the balls of their feet was ready to act. Seeing that, Charles paused. He thought that by dismounting, he would appear less intimidating. It appeared to have the opposite effect. His brows furrowed with discontent. Moments like these caused him to detest his height, as people either became wary of him or started challenging him. He usually slouched a little because of this, even though most of the time it didn't help him.

He finally said in a calm tone, "I wanted to thank you." The stranger blinked and cocked their head aside.
"...I... Didn't do much."
He shook his head: "Arthur could have died. The food and furs helped." Birch lowered their head, refusing to meet the man's gaze. This was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "Just... Wanted to help." Really. Anyone could have helped. Maybe. Should. Birch just... It felt like the right thing to do.

Sensing the other's unease, Charles nodded and remained silent. At this point, he had said what he intended to. But he didn't feel quite ready to leave. He was intrigued by the stranger but didn't know how to approach. He had been on his own for a long time before joining the Van der Linde gang, and he was still figuring out where he fit in with them. In that sense, the stranger seemed similar to him; maybe he felt a connection with the other because of that.

The feeling of curiosity was mutual, as evidenced by the stranger's repeated glances. Based on some of his physical features, the colors and designs of his clothes, and the overall feeling... Birch could see that Charles was, at the very least, partially a native. It caught their attention because they had never seen him among the Wapiti. However, since Birch hadn't seen the tribe in a while, things might have changed.

"Tukténitaŋhaŋ he?" Birch tried talking to the man, who was surprised, judging by the rise in his brows. It had been a while since they had spoken the language, so Birch was concerned they had made a mistake. They tried something simpler instead: "Hau?"

Taken by surprise, Charles hurried to answer. Even though he was unable to fully understand the other's tribe language, he instinctively attempted to respond. It had been a long time since he used the language his mother had taught.

"Uh, Osiyo. D- Dtoh... itsu?"

In turn, Birch was shocked to hear the strange words of another tribe. But also excited. "Emáčiyapi Birch!"

"I'm sorry, but I- I don't understand," Charles confessed with embarrassment.
"And I don't you," the stranger's grin was clear in their voice. He smiled a little. "But you are from a tribe, right?"
He became somber upon hearing that. No, he wasn't from any tribe. Not from any that he remembered or could recall. His mother had one, but things happened. Then it was just him and his non-native father. Nobody else.
"I'm sorry."
Stunned, he wondered if he had shown or uttered that out loud. No, he was sure. Yet the stranger had sounded sad for him.
The same kind of stillness answered his question: "You, um, your tribe?"
Likewise, Birch was at a loss for words. Their situation was also complicated. They couldn't say they had any tribe to call their own. Charles understood, and offered quiet apology, which made Birch to shrug.
"It's what it is." It was partly Birch's fault they can't visit the Wapiti. But maybe one day. Maybe.

"Did everyone make it, from the mountains?"
"Yes."
"Even the kid?" The child had been Birch's main concern. When things get rough and grownups start acting, children are the most vulnerable. So when the man nodded, Birch was relieved. Hearing that the boy was still alive was worth parting with most of the food and fur of theirs. Birch didn't have much need for lot of money. "Good. You... Will you tell about me? To your friends?"
Wanting to avoid unnecessary conflicts, they tried to convince the other: "I don't wanna fight any of you."
"You don't want me to?"
Birch shook their head and Charles pondered. Then agreed: "Okay." If the other didn't want to cause trouble for the group, he didn't see the need to tell.
"Thank you."

They kept exchanging glances that were less tense and more friendly. Curious about the other but wary of frightening them away. "Your name is Birch, like the tree?"
"Yeah," the stranger chirped. "And yours is Charles?" They started circling the man, observing them but keeping respectful distance. "Yes," he tried keeping them in his sight, standing still but his eyes moving. The footsteps of the strangers were light and faint, just as they had been in the snow. There was a peculiar way the other one moved on their feet. Playful and lively. Their clothing was very concealing, yet their body language was vocal and clear.

"You... Travel alone?"
"Most of the time." The man had a long hair, beautiful shade of black. He was tall but slouched somewhat. On purpose? Sharp eyes but no hint of menace in them. "They tread you good?"
"Yes." He didn't have any complaints because, although every group has its share of jerks, he was usually treated fairly. Particularly by those in charge. The stranger halted in front of him. "Good. If they don't, you can ask for my help." As much as Charles tried to avoid making assumptions based on appearance... Birch was very much short compared to him. The fact made their offer even more... Something.
"Sure."

Birch could see the other one was amused by them. That's okay, they liked to surprise people.
"...Okay, bye."
"What?"
Birch turned to face the man as they walked backwards. They liked Charles, but the nerves were shooting straight back up. They were unnerved by the energy that was rattling their insides. Their fear of saying or doing something stupid made them anxious. If they unintentionally offended the man, that would be sad.

"I need to go. Is that okay?"
"Of course," he worried this was the las they would see each other.

"Don't shoot me while hunting, yeah?"
"I won't," he chuckled.

Once Birch was on their horse and far away, they let out a deep breath of relief. They still felt strange overall, with their heart thumping and trembling and their insides tingling. Happy but anxious. Eager but hesitant to, maybe, see Charles again. "That was so weird," Birch whined, hugging Stumpy's neck. The horse flicked its ears back and forth. The image of falling onto the man's arms came to mind.
With lips pressed together, Birch let out a silent scream. That was the most embarrassing thing they had ever done! More so than getting a pail of waste thrown at you or shooting another hunter for mistaking it to be a boar, or-

Its rider acting strangely caused the gelding to shift uneasily and make concerned noises. They patted the horse to help it relax. "I'm sorry, boy. No, hold on." Stumpy was the one who hadn't been beneath the tree when called. "You big oaf," Birch grumbled, and they handed a carrot to the gelding. Scowling as the other bit into it innocently. Another deep sigh.
Hunting would calm them down.

Charles returned to the camp and carried on as usual, keeping himself occupied with chores. He talked with Arthur, but kept the meeting with the stranger a secret, as promised. It seemed better that way, considering how worn out the gunslinger looked. Arthur had been rushing around, trying to raise the necessary funds for the group. Adding more worry to the other would be cruel. While offering to help Arthur in any way, Charles also planned to go hunting the next day. As he made arrows, he thought about Birch.

The stranger had been a vibrant but nervous fella, given how quickly they had departed. Hopefully, he hadn't scared them away. He hoped to see them once more. It would be nice talking with someone with his mother's native language.

Birch was worn out at night after a lengthy dinner that involved lots of talking with their face uncovered. They at least had the courage to say that they would sleep in front of the fireplace instead of taking the son's bed. They found solace in the flames while lying on the floor with their mask on. Letting their mind to wander on things that bothered. They were concerned for the family. Although Birch hadn't been to the Downes since last year, there was signs of trouble.
The majority of valuable items, including a cross and a painting, were absent in the main room.

Birch recalled Thomas's proud display of it, explaining that it had been in his family for a few generations. The cross was not gold or anything fancy, but it was also not made of wood. Furthermore, it was evident that the man was not well. After spitting blood on the dinner table, he hastily exited the room. When asked, everyone dismissed it as merely the flu. Obviously avoiding the truth.
However, a common cold does not cause you to spit out clear blood or cough up your lungs.
Despite of cautious questions, Birch had not received a satisfactory explanation for these things. Though it was obvious that something wasn't right, they didn't want to upset the family. If the Downes didn't want to tell, there was nothing Birch could really do except try helping in other ways. Maybe hunting, because Mrs. Downes had been so happy about the rabbits earlier.

Birch sits up, alert, at the sound of footsteps within the house. Archie, the family's son, was initially alarmed to see the skull mask as he emerged from his room. Birch gave a small wave, which calmed him down a little. When they removed their mask, Birch saw that he remained agitated. They asked him in a low voice, "What's wrong?"

Glancing toward his parents' room, Archie turned back to Birch, who was giving him a questioning look. The boy whispered, "I- My pa- We need help." Hearing the fear in his voice unsettled Birch. At that moment, Archie looked like a fearful little kid in need of assistance. They were immediately driven to do whatever it took to take the worry off the boy's face. "Okay. Tell me."