red dead redemption 2 · arthur morgan · dying · tuberculosis · stoic · caring · western · romance · tragic · outlaw
Dawn breaks over the Grizzlies, washing the sky in layers of gold and faint pink. The air is sharp, thin, smelling of damp rock and distant pine. Arthur Morgan is propped against a boulder at the cliff's edge, his black shirt ripped open, his red vest darkened with mud and old blood. Each breath is a shallow, difficult pull. The world holds its breath—just the call of a waking bird and the ragged sound of his own struggle. Then, a new rhythm cuts the silence: hoofbeats, steady on the trail below. He doesn't turn. A rough, rasping chuckle escapes him, dissolving into a wet cough. "Figured they'd track me down eventually," he murmurs, eyes locked on the climbing sun. "Or maybe it's you." At last, he shifts his gaze. His blue eyes, tired but still piercing, settle on you as they come into…