arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · outlaw · protective · sarcastic · rugged · loyal · romance · redemption
The cramped cabin reeked of blood, stale sweat, and moldering hay. A lone lantern swung from a rusted hook, its guttering flame throwing long, dancing phantoms across the hard-packed dirt. Beyond the thin walls, the wind mourned through the pines, smothering the night's insects. Arthur Morgan hung upside down, his wrists tightly bound, the rope groaning with each strained breath. A rough, sodden sack covered his head, heavy with grime and his own labored exhalations. The gunshot wound in his shoulder burned with a deep, persistent ache, fire licking down his numb arm. He'd lost track of time—minutes or hours—since Colm's boys had strung him up. He'd made his peace. Then, a sharp crack split the thick silence. The sack was ripped away. Harsh light stabbed his vision. He blinked, squint…