#( ;; 'in which r.aven thinks a.rthur is a dad of 8' is CRAZY. )

[redemn]

❝        you  don't  really  know  me  ,      miss  .        ❞        if  you  don't  mind  me  sayin'  ,      is  what  he  wants  to  add  .      instead  ,      he  shuts  his  lips  ,      lets  the  thought  pass  in  favor  of  something  more  firm  .        ❝        you  don't  know  the  half'a  me  .      if  you  knew  what  i  do  ,      you  wouldn't  be  callin'  me  nothin'  near  kind  .        ❞        he  had  wanted  to  help  .      a  good  deed  may  never  go  unpunished  ,      but  in  the  moment  ,      it  carries  all  the  weight  it  needs  to  break  up  the  monotony  of  dejection  that  seems  to  float  like  a  fog  through  his  mind  and  every  thought  he  has  so  easily  ,      so  confidently  .      it  would  be  a  very  droll  existence  indeed  to  simply  sit  and  watch  a  a  prostrate  woman  without  at  least  making  sure  she  was  well  enough  to  get  on  her  way  .      he  would  be  no  better  than  a  petty  thief  or  an  unscrupulous  fool  were  he  to  leave  her  here  ,      alone  and  vulnerable  in  the  midst  of  these  woods  .      he  can  afford  to  give  out  his  protection  for  nothing  more  than  a  penny  .      even  less  than  that  .      she's  done  enough  to  pay  him  for  this  in  kind  :      he  is  merely  paying  her  back  in  the  only  way  he  knows  how  .

but  he  is  certain  he  doesn't  know  anything  about  kindness  .      if  he  did  ,      perhaps  he  wouldn't  be  here  now  ,      still  nursing  wounds  from  gunshots  ,      skin  marred  with  the  many  scars  left  by  guns  and  fists  and  knives  ,      stolen  and  blood  money  in  his  pocket  .      if  she  were  to  know  of  all  his  wrongdoings  ,      she  wouldn't  be  calling  him  kind  .      he  knows  that  for  a  fact  .      no  person  in  their  right  mind  would  vie  for  the  affections  of  an  outlawed  madman  like  him  .

eventually  ,      he  breaks  the  uncomfortable  silence  with  a  shake  of  his  head  ,      gesturing  to  the  tea  .      ❝  that  tea's  nothin'  but  water  and  a  few  samplin'  of  herbs  .      i  put  sprigs  of  mint  ,      oregano  ,      thyme  .      not  a  lotta  sage        i  ain't  got  much'a  that  on  me  ever  .      hard  to  find  .      it's  all  a  little  bitter  ,      but  i  ain't  carryin'  sugar  'round  .        ❞        a  pause  ,      before  he  continues  .        ❝        and  ,      uh    …    no  .      i  ain't  got  much  of  a  family  .      not  in  the  way  you're  thinkin'  .      i  got  my  people  ,      sure  .        ❞        people  he  would  very  well  call  his  own  family  before  anyone  else  .      he  chuckles  to  himself  now  ,      smile  humorless  .      ❝  i'm  sure  they're  proud  of  me  in  some  ways  .      just  not  for  kindness  .        ❞

his  hand  moves  up  across  his  body  ,      through  no  willing  of  his  own  ,      fingers  curved  and  resting  on  the  stretch  between  shoulder  and  neck  .      his  gaze  seeks  her  dark  eyes  ,      so  pensive  and  unique  in  their  focus  ,      always  searching  for  something  he  isn't  entirely  aware  of  .        ❝        how  you  feelin'  ?      if  you're  still  weak  ,      i  can  find  you  more  to  eat  .      or  there  might  be  somethin'  in  my  bag  worth  takin'  .      i  got  tonics  .      you  drink  those  ?        ❞

kinship is a feeling she can hardly recognize in others,    let alone herself,    although unknown, her strange comfort with the man might as well be a familiarity brought forth by their shared curse of service towards others.    if she could recognize that the warmth creeping around her is not just by velvet smoke or heat from the fire,    but of affinity, perhaps she would’ve unraveled his soul quicker,    or gotten any clues as to how someone like him even exists.    surrounded by so much blood and vice,    and yet he seems to lack the characteristic selfish cruelty that often comes with wanted men.    the empath can usually judge someone’s character quicker, at least by the third meeting,    but with arthur,    it feels much too soon,    she fears she would mischaracterize him if she where to cast her sentencing now.   

maybe she could indulge her curiosity,    just this once.    what is the harm in this controlled space    ?    tucked away in the privacy of nature,    sparsely heard owls,    as the rest of the world sleeps.    she’s only known of one tale where a pair in the sole company of trees and animals has gone wrong,    and it’s of a faith she doesn’t follow.    even so,    she still promises herself not to go too far— temperance.    trying to socialize doesn't have to be a martyrdom.   

she nods,    carefully grabbing the mug and shifting to sit side - legged closer to the fire.    “ very well,   ” there’s no use resisting on her part anyway,     her vessel is depleted and evidently neither of them finished their unfortunate meals.    the tea’s taste is unfamiliar,    intrigue consumes her,    it settles the throbbing in her head in what feels like an instant.    the irony of how it all seems as sacrificial food on a temple does not escape her,    but her amusement is secret.    “ what did you use for this    ?    do you mind if i write down the recipe    ?    ” she asks with a tilted head,    reaching for raspberries to satiate her lingering hunger. 

as she eats and ruby stains her lips,    she observes him,    looking for signs of tiredness his eyes,    he must be exhausted after tending guard for so long.    she seeks any movement in his throat and even the tightness of his jaw,    anything that may act as confessor to who this man truly is.    “ do you have a big family, arthur    ?    you seem like you do.    something about your shoulders.    ” her serene tone is almost whimsical,    but her words are profoundly honest.    despite her partial blindness to his core,    something around his beacons of stability seems too grand… too sparse,    as if he had given his soul away too many times,    for him to be a lone wolf,    a heavy burden she couldn’t define,    but in her experience,    often meant the burden of responsibility of many,    often children,    but she dares not assume.     “ i am certain they are proud that you are such a kind man.    ”