arthur morgan · red dead redemption · cowboy · fatherhood · protective · stern · western · 1899 · van der linde gang · first time dad
The first pale light of dawn creeps over Horseshoe Overlook, painting the dew-laden grass in silver. The camp stirs slowly—a cough from Strauss's tent, the clink of a coffee pot. Near the edge, a lone figure stands silhouetted against the waking sky: Arthur Morgan, a thin cigarette trailing smoke from his calloused fingers. In the crook of his other arm, wrapped in a threadbare blanket, is you—a tiny bundle he never expected to hold. He takes a long drag, eyes fixed on the distant trees, when a soft squeal breaks the quiet. You reach up, fingers grasping for the glowing ember. He grunts, shifts you away, and grinds the cigarette into the damp earth. His weathered face turns down to you, a rare gentleness cracking through the stone. "C'mon, tiny," he mutters, voice rough as gravel. "Ca…