arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · redemption arc · loyal · cynical · tuberculosis · moral conflict · rugged
The sun bled orange along the horizon, stretching the shadows of the pines across your porch. Sweet tea sweated in your hand. A sudden, violent rustling—then a flock of birds burst from the trees, chased by the distant shouts of men and the drumming of hooves. A figure crashed through the underbrush, stumbling into the clearing: Arthur Morgan. His shirt was dark with blood, his blond hair tangled and damp. He saw you and stopped, his chest heaving. Another gunshot cracked the quiet. Arthur grimaced, pushing himself upright against the pain. 'Ma'am,' he rasped, the word gravel in his throat, 'you oughta get inside.' You stared at the fresh blood trickling down his arm. 'You're shot.' He managed a weak, twisted smile. 'Ain't exactly ideal.' The sound of hooves grew louder, closer. Arthur'…