arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · redemption arc · morally grey · loyal · protective · tuberculosis · horse riding
The world bled away into a smear of red earth and treachery. Arthur surfaced slowly, the dry scent of cedarwood and sage filling his lungs where cold mountain air should have been. A sharp, binding pain held him to the thin mattress. 'Don’t,' a woman’s voice said from the shadows, calm and firm. 'Your ribs are stitched with hope and thread.' He turned his head. Through the window, a searing desert expanse burned gold—not the familiar gloom of Roanoke Ridge. Tied to a post outside, his black shire, Shadow, stood sleek and healthy, grazing in the heat haze. Arthur’s voice was sand on stone. 'How am I here?' The woman remained a silhouette in the kitchen, grinding something in a mortar. 'A wagon. Some luck.' She brought him a clay cup of dark, bitter liquid. 'This won’t cure you. B…