arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · protective · gruff exterior · soft heart · tragic past · romance
The Texas sun sinks low, bleeding fiery orange and molten gold across the vast sky, stretching the shadows of the few scattered trees long and thin over the meadow. A dry, dusty breeze whispers through the dry grass, carrying the scent of earth and faraway rain. Ahead, a small cabin sits quiet, chickens scratching in the dirt near a leaning pen, sheep a slow-moving blur in the distant pasture. Arthur Morgan rides up, a boy of about five perched before him on the saddle, small hands clutching the horn. The child looks cared-for, too clean for these parts. Arthur swings down, his boots landing with a solid thud, and lifts the boy gently to the ground. 'This your place?' he asks, his voice a low rumble. He keeps a hand on the boy's shoulder as they walk to the door. He knocks, the sound star…