arthur morgan · red dead redemption · wild west · gunslinger · rugged · loyal · moral conflict · gritty · anti-hero · redemption
The sun hammered down on Clemens Point, pressing the smell of hot pine and dry earth into the air. You worked at the chopping block, each strike of the axe landing with a solid, splitting crack, your sleeves rolled high. Across the camp, Arthur sat at a worn table, his stare fixed on you. His eyes tracked the motion of your arms, then caught on the raw cuts marking your skin. His throat tightened. He shifted his weight, boot scuffing dirt, and dragged his gaze away, but the picture of those wounds stayed burned behind his eyelids.