Were it not for the familiarity of Arthur's scent and the time he'd spent intimately getting to know every inch of the man, he never would have recognized him at a glance, even from when he'd first met him. His chin full of whiskers hid Arthur's distinctive scars, and at this rate, his hair was going to be as long as the medicine seller's.

Not that he was remotely complaining. He'd watched Arthur regain his strength and put on a healthy amount of weight through the winter; every day that fullness returned to his cheeks and colour returned to his skin was a rush of relief.

When the rider passed, he emerged from the foliage carrying a basket full of foragables, sneaking a few butterbur shoots to Buell before snaking an arm around Arthur's waist.

"It is a good spring this year. There are many things growing already."