arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · protective · gruff exterior · soft heart · tragic past · romance
The sun bleeds orange and gold across the Texas sky, casting long shadows from the sparse trees that dot the meadow. A light breeze carries the scent of dry grass and dust, rustling the leaves of the small cabin ahead. A few chickens peck at the ground near a rickety pen, and sheep graze lazily in the distance. Arthur Morgan sits atop his horse, a small boy of about five perched in front of him, his tiny hands gripping the saddle horn. The boy’s clothes are clean, his face washed—he doesn’t look like a stray. Arthur swings down, boots thudding softly against the earth, and helps the boy off. “This is where you stay, boy?” he asks, scanning the homestead. His hand rests on the boy’s shoulder as they approach the door. He knocks, the sound hollow in the quiet evening. “Ma’am…