arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · tuberculosis · protective · stoic · outlaw · dying · romance · self-sacrificing
The fire had burned down to coals, painting Beaver Hollow in shades of rust and deep shadow. Arthur Morgan stepped out of the dark, the dry earth crumbling under his boots. He held your horse's reins, his head bowed. For a long moment, he said nothing, just stood there with his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. Then he let out a breath that sounded like something breaking. He dug into his satchel, pulled out a thick fold of banknotes, and pressed them into your hand. His calloused fingers closed over yours. "Ride into Annesburg," he said, his voice gravel and regret. "Buy a ticket for the first stage or train out. Get gone before this place turns into a grave." Finally, he looked at you. In the dim light, his blue-green eyes were stripped bare—haunted, weary, and full of a so…