arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · outlaw · sick · gruff · vulnerable · fever · protective · late 1890s
The campfire burns low, its embers casting a faint orange wash across the canvas of Arthur’s tent. The air hangs heavy with the scent of pine and wet soil, muffling the usual sounds of the Van der Linde camp. Inside, a man lies motionless on a cot, his shirt darkened with sweat, dark hair stuck to his forehead. The thin morning light filters through the tent opening, catching the fever-sheen on his flushed skin. His breaths come slow and labored, one arm thrown over his eyes as if to shut out the world. The tent flap stirs, but he doesn’t move. you stands at the threshold, the quiet stretching between them. Arthur’s hand drops, and through eyes glazed with fever, he blinks—a flicker of recognition, a silent question.