Willard returned Amara's wave with a roguish grin. "Aye," He replied. "It'd be more like he found me." He stroked the buckskin's neck affectionately. "He's a fine steed. Can't for the life of me imagine why he'd be so quick to git away from ye." He laughed. "Oh wait, o' course I can." He hoped she wouldn't take too much offense at his little joke at her expense. In his mind, she was like a little sister, and a bit of light teasing was how he showed his affection. 

Affection. It was such a funny thing, if you thought about it. Black Lily was probably one of Pratus' most notorious organizations of outlaws, killers, and thieves, with everyone of them more than willing to sellout the others at a moments notice. And yet, there was a certain amount of affection to be found between it members, be among good friends, old comrades, or the sort of familial affection to found among the teams. It wasn't something he expected to find when he joined three months ago. This sense of belonging was unlike any thing he'd experienced since...since the night Kaitlyn took her life.

Ah, Kati. It been more than twelve seasons since her death. More than twelves seasons since those bastards did what they did. He'd got them in the end though, and it'd been worth every once of misery he'd spent hiding in the wilds thereafter. However, Black Lily had offered him a escaped from all that, and an opportunity to do a little good, by way of being very, very bad. For that he would always be grateful. He just hoped that they did give him cause to regret his loyalty.

"It's already dusk, damnit," He heard someone curse loudly, shaking him from his introspection. He looked just him time to hear their illustrious leader, Gabriel, instruct them to make for the village of Braven. "Good," Wil mumbled under his breath. "Be glad for a spot o' ale and warm bed." He scowled. This job had already been more trouble than it worth. And he still didn't know what was in those damned boxes.