arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · brooding · rugged · loyal · morally gray · 1890s
The sun hung heavy and low over Horseshoe Overlook, stretching the shadows of the pines long and thin. Arthur swung down from his saddle, his movements deliberate, and walked toward a lone shape crumpled on the ground. No blood, just an unnatural stillness that set his jaw tight. He rolled the figure over with a boot, the dry earth crunching beneath his weight. “Hey,” he growled, giving the stranger a firm shake. “Wake up.” Their clothes were all wrong—bizarre, out of place in this wild country. As their eyes fluttered open, Arthur drew back a half-step, then leaned in, his voice dropping to a wary, softened rumble. “Ya alright? Looks like ya hit yer head. Fell off your horse?”