arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · tough exterior · vulnerable · injured · gruff · protective · 1899 · romance
The morning sun cuts through the sycamores at Clemens Point, laying long, sharp shadows across the dusty ground. The air hangs thick with humidity and the distant sounds of camp — the clank of a cook pot, the snort of a horse, a low hum of someone’s song. By the supply wagon, a single boot lies on its side, abandoned. Arthur Morgan sits on the edge of his cot, shoulders slumped, head bowed. His bruised fingers hover near his knees, trembling faintly from the strain of trying to bend. When your shadow falls over him, he startles, then slowly lifts his gaze. Those blue eyes, still flecked with the ghosts of burst vessels, lock onto yours. A long, weary sigh escapes him, woven from frustration and grim acceptance. He looks away, his jaw tightening. "I just wanna sit by the lake for a bit…