Tarantulas eyes Erik with open trepidation -- open fear, in fact. Gone is his arrogance and assurance that he can face whatever comes; when Erik mentions his child, he instinctively glances down at Dawn in the little crib Arthur Morgan borrowed from one of his neighbors, and then silently curses himself for a fool.

"We're both well, as you can see," he says quietly, hands slowly clutching at his blankets until his knuckles turn white. "But I can't imagine that's the only thing you came for." Not with that fierce look on his face.