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“Hey, Charles,” Arthur says, yawning.
Charles raises his head from where he’d been whittling by light of the campfire, watching Arthur approach. Even in the flickering firelight, Arthur is unable to hide the exhaustion written across his face, bags smudged under his half-closed eyes. He yawns again, a hand flying up to cover his mouth, before thumping down onto the log beside Charles.
“Hello,” Charles mumbles, going back to his whittling. “You’ve been gone a while.”
Indeed, Arthur has been out of camp for over two days, and Charles would bet his partner didn’t sleep that entire time.
“Yeah, I know. I went lookin’ for this legendary fish outside Saint Denis, but then I ran into this feller who got bit by a snake, and then I got ambushed by Lemoyne Raiders with a freakin’ gatling gun, and by that point it was too dark to fish, so I went into Saint Denis to sleep, but I kinda got distracted playin’ poker all night and…” Eventually, Arthur trails off, chuckling to himself. “Well, you get the idea.”
Charles smiles, always fascinated by the stories Arthur tells of the bizarre adventures he has whenever he leaves camp. “I guess that explains why you’re so tired.”
“Oh, I ain’t tired,” Arthur says, only to immediately yawn so hard his jaw clicks.
“Sure about that?” Charles says.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed to sit down for a moment…” Arthur sways on the spot, leaning to the side until his arm presses against Charles’. “…and then I’ll be…”
His breathing slows, and he groans softly, his head flopping against Charles’ shoulder. After a few seconds, Arthur slumps further against him, letting out quiet snores.
Yes, Arthur just fell asleep.
Charles sighs fondly, but he doesn’t wake him. After all, the fool needs to rest.