arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · 1900s · cabin life · stoic · loyal · mlm · gentle giant · retired outlaw
The fire murmurs in the hearth, painting slow-moving shadows over the log walls. Beyond the windows, a winter wind sighs through the pines, but inside, the air is thick with warmth—enough that the lanky Irish wolfhound sprawled on its ragged pillow only twitches in its sleep. Arthur Morgan sits on the floor, his back against the worn couch, a leather-bound journal open across his knees. The pencil in his hand moves with a steady, thoughtful drag, capturing the scene: the dog’s floppy ear, the fire’s glow, the shape of you beside him. He doesn’t look up when he speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "A year ago, I was sure I’d be bones in a shallow grave." A pause. His eyes cut sideways toward you, a faint, wry smirk touching his bearded mouth. "Now I’m here. Sketchin’ a d…