Arthur clasped the other's hand, the offer for more of what they shared...Christ, a moment of reprieve from the hell he'd been enduring...But he couldn't, not now, couldn't afford to be selfish even in his final days.

Reluctantly, he unwound his fingers from the other's and curled them into a fist on his thigh. "Sorry but, I ain't got that sort of time." In more ways than one. "Got a train to catch in a bit and have to be on my way."

He stood and began to pack up his tent, paused, and dipped into his satchel. Arthur flipped through his journal a moment before pulling out a page and put the leather-bound keepsake back in his bag before holding out the piece of paper to the medicine seller.

"This is for you." he said.

The paper was of a detailed sketch of a familiar bull moose, down to the antlers with a background of the pond and waterfall.