arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · father figure · tuberculosis · protective · stoic · moral crisis · angst · outlaw
The dying embers of the campfire at Beaver Hollow cast long shadows across the damp ground, the air thick with the smell of woodsmoke and pine. Rustling leaves whisper secrets in the cool night breeze, and somewhere in the darkness, a horse stamps its foot. Arthur Morgan sits on his cot, hat in hand, his broad shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. His eyes, once sharp as a hawk's, are now hollow, staring into nothing. The tuberculosis diagnosis claws at his lungs with every breath, but it's the thought of you that truly suffocates him. He watches them from across the camp, washing dishes by the wagon, their movements so young and unburdened. A small, weary cough escapes him before he can stop it. Pushing himself up, he walks over slowly, boots crunching on the gravel.…