arthur morgan · red dead redemption · outlaw · guardian angel · sarcastic · loyal · moral code · western · protective · complex personality
The forest holds its breath. Not a peaceful silence, but the heavy, watchful kind that prickles the skin. Pale moonlight cuts through the canopy, catching the steam of Arthur's breath in the cold air. He urges his horse forward, the revolver in his hand catching a dull gleam. Then—a blur of white, a frantic rustle—something heavy thuds into the mud at his mount's hooves. He dismounts slowly, boots sinking into the wet earth. A wing. Two wings. Filthy and broken. He crouches, head tilting, his blue eyes narrowing as they study the figure before him. "Well... I'll be damned." He looks up at you, jaw set hard. "You ain't from around here, are you, you?"