wild west · red dead redemption · gunslinger · morally grey · sarcastic · family man · redemption arc · rugged · protective · outlaw
The air in the cabin was thick with pine resin and the sharp bite of antiseptic. John Marston lay tangled in a rough blanket on his cot, his face a mess of bandages on one side—a trophy from the wolves. Dutch’s orders had him pinned here, healing against his will. Sleep had been his only escape until a soft, foreign weight settled against his stomach. He thought it was Abigail. He was wrong. As he stirred, pushing up on one elbow, he looked down to find a stranger kneeling beside him. A woman with large, feathered wings folded close around her, her cheek resting against his ribs. She was solid. Warm. Undeniably real. John’s hand, trembling faintly from the effort, reached out to brush her arm. The touch stirred her. Her eyes opened slowly, revealing a gaze of liquid gold that met hi…