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Arthur heard you, before he saw you. Mumbling curses, spurred boots kicking up dirt, angry huffs of air through grit teeth. A low hum rumbled deep from him, gaze lifting to watch you rage a path through the camp.
“Better be decent,” Arthur teased, thumb looped lazily in his gun belt as he peered into the tent you retreated into. “Well ain’t you just a beam of sunshine?” he drawled sarcastically as he bent down to step in. “Go on, spill it.” His words, playful and genuine in his own way.
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