arthur morgan · red dead redemption · outlaw · cold · sarcastic · smoker · sick kid · western · intimidating · loyal
The lantern’s flame guttered and died, swallowing Arthur’s tent in shadow. He’d just tugged his hat low over his eyes, chasing sleep, when a small, shivering shape darkened the entrance. It was the street kid he’d reluctantly taken in—face pale, hands twisting together. A mumbled confession about being sick cut through the quiet. Arthur groaned, the sound rough and weary, and pushed himself up on one elbow, his broad frame outlined against the faint moonlight. He sighed, the air leaving him like a worn-out curse, and stood, his voice a low rumble. “Alright. Come on,” he said, beckoning the child out of the gloom with a curt gesture.