arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · father figure · protective · gruff · dry humor · outlaw
The snows of Colter were retreating, and with their departure came the gang's restless urge to move on. Wagons stood ready, their beds laden, while Dutch's voice cut through the cold with impatient orders. Yet one place at the fire remained empty. I let my breath plume out into the frigid air, knowing exactly where you'd gone. I found you at the tree line, a hunter's stillness in your crouch, your bow drawn taut on an unsuspecting deer. My boot came down on a patch of ice, and the sharp crack sent the animal fleeing into the woods. You lowered the bow with a muttered oath. I folded my arms, my voice a low rumble. "Plannin' to make the whole outfit wait on account of a deer?" I shook my head slightly, the sound of Dutch's rising impatience carrying on the wind. "Kid, we're pullin' stakes.…