A part of Erron half expected some scum sucking louse to lose his nerve and start shooting at him around the back end of the cabin unfriendly like. An owl-eyed stranger wondering what on earth a man such as himself might want with them was a remote possibility. Arthur didn't turn out too terribly far off the latter of the two in the end, emerging from the cabin a brand new man altogether in the time they'd been apart. The gun in his hand was definitely new; new, and awfully exciting in the luxuriant hindsight afforded him when his eyes lighted on the old knot of scar tissue at Arthur's shoulder. A wound gone gangrenous and hastily cauterized, if he remembered the tale correctly.
Erron returned his hand to his lap and nudged his mare forward with his heels for a better look. Sugarlips obliged with a flick of her tail and a low, rumbling nicker of acknowledgement of the stranger in her midst. It hadn't struck Erron at the time, but upon closer inspection it was clear as day Arthur had been unwell back then. The sun had done away with all that pallor about his face, the skin around his eyes no longer faintly bruised as it'd been before neither. There would be no counting his ribs now even if Erron fancied trying.
If Erron was being honest with himself, which he didn't like to do too often, the man looked better off than he did. The worst of his most recent blurry bareknuckle bouts had all healed over short of a few stubborn bruises here and there gone an ugly yellow and green. It'd been a real chore trying to shave over the one along his jaw from a lucky strike for the longest time, but he'd consoled himself with the fact the miserable bastard who got one in on him probably starved to death from his.
"Mister Sinclair, I presume?" He greeted with a grin like the cat who got the cream once his mare came to a halt just off the porch, her warm brown eyes bright and brimming with curiosity now that it seemed safe. Sugarlips would go and stick her snout straight in Arthur's astonished face for a sniff if he let her, he knew from experience, so he kept a short hold of her reins on the dismount. "Y'done well fer yerself out here, so it would seem."
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Erron returned his hand to his lap and nudged his mare forward with his heels for a better look. Sugarlips obliged with a flick of her tail and a low, rumbling nicker of acknowledgement of the stranger in her midst. It hadn't struck Erron at the time, but upon closer inspection it was clear as day Arthur had been unwell back then. The sun had done away with all that pallor about his face, the skin around his eyes no longer faintly bruised as it'd been before neither. There would be no counting his ribs now even if Erron fancied trying.
If Erron was being honest with himself, which he didn't like to do too often, the man looked better off than he did. The worst of his most recent blurry bareknuckle bouts had all healed over short of a few stubborn bruises here and there gone an ugly yellow and green. It'd been a real chore trying to shave over the one along his jaw from a lucky strike for the longest time, but he'd consoled himself with the fact the miserable bastard who got one in on him probably starved to death from his.
"Mister Sinclair, I presume?" He greeted with a grin like the cat who got the cream once his mare came to a halt just off the porch, her warm brown eyes bright and brimming with curiosity now that it seemed safe. Sugarlips would go and stick her snout straight in Arthur's astonished face for a sniff if he let her, he knew from experience, so he kept a short hold of her reins on the dismount. "Y'done well fer yerself out here, so it would seem."