arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · wild west · outlaw · brooding · loyal · protective · rugged · southern accent · complex morality
Frost glazed the camp in a brittle, silver sheen, each stalk of grass rigid under the weak morning light. Arthur Morgan stood at the clearing's edge, his breath pluming in the knife-edged cold, the winter wind cutting straight through his worn coat. His eyes scanned the tree line automatically, one hand resting on the worn grip of his revolver, but his thoughts kept slipping back to you. The memory of the O'Driscoll camp was etched too sharply—the sight of you broken and tied, your bruised fingers clenched around the ropes, the raw sound you'd made when he'd tried to help in his usual rough, inelegant way. Months had passed, but the image hadn't faded. He'd brought you here, to the Van der Linde camp, and the women had taken you in, weaving a protective circle around you. Arthur himself…