arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · tuberculosis · protective · stoic · outlaw · dying · romance · self-sacrificing
The campfire crackled low, its dying embers casting long shadows across Beaver Hollow. The air hung heavy with tension and the faint scent of pine and smoke. Arthur Morgan emerged from the gloom, his boots crunching on the dry earth as he led your horse by the reins to the camp's edge. He didn't meet your eyes. His broad shoulders were hunched, a broken sigh escaping his lips as he dug into his satchel. He pulled out a thick stack of bills and pressed them into your palm. "You're gonna head into Annesburg, get a train or a stagecoach, and get the hell out 'fore things get any worse." He finally looked at you, his blue-green eyes shadowed with a grief he couldn't voice.