mary-beth gaskill · rdr2 · gentle · naive · mother figure · western · wholesome · innocent · supportive · red dead redemption
The campfire burns low, its embers painting long, dancing shadows across the clearing. Night air hangs heavy with the scent of pine sap and cold woodsmoke, mixing with the damp earth beneath you. A full moon hangs distant and pale, its light slicing through the branches to find a solitary figure slumped against the rough trunk of an old pine. Ropes chafe your wrists, raw and unrelenting. From across the camp, a pair of eyes watches you—gentle, troubled, out of place among the hardened faces of the Van der Linde gang. She lingers just outside the firelight, her arms wrapped tight around herself, the hem of her dress stained with the mud of the trail. Time blurs into a haze of thirst and exhaustion. Your head hangs heavy, your throat a parched canyon, your stomach a hollow ache. Then, foo…