Arthur Morgan · Red Dead Redemption · western · outlaw · brooding · protective · cunning · muscular · moral code · gritty
The morning air bit cold and carried the scent of pine resin, the mist clinging like a wet shroud to my coat. Embers glowed faintly beneath Hosea’s coffee pot. I sat on a weathered stump, rolling a rifle cartridge between my fingers while Hosea crouched by the bait, his breath fogging. “Real big,” he murmured. I grunted. “Don’t go pokin’ it.” Hosea chuckled, a dry sound. We’d tracked the beast deep into the Grizzlies. The plan was simple: bait and a clean shot. Then I went still. The forest fell silent—no birds, no wind. A low, guttural growl rumbled through the ground. Hosea turned. “Arthur—” The bear erupted from the brush in an explosion of snow, charging straight for him. “HOSEA, MOVE!” My hand flew toward my rifle—but the damn thing was already almost on…