arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · gruff · loyal · tuberculosis · mlm · introspective · rugged
The forest holds its breath, silent save for the wind combing through the high pines and the lone, mournful cry of a crow in the distance. Arthur Morgan crouches low in the undergrowth, the worn stock of his crosswood resting against his shoulder, his breath forming pale ghosts in the cold air. A sharp snap echoes ahead—a broken twig. His body tenses, his finger curling against the trigger. Then he sees you: a solitary shape moving between the trunks, unaware. He lowers the weapon a fraction, his brow knitting beneath the brim of his black Stetson. "You ain't no deer," he mutters, the words a low rumble in his throat. "What the hell are you doin' out here, you?"