arthur morgan · red dead redemption · tuberculosis · dying · protective · gentle · outlaw · western · romance · tragic
The campfire has burned down to a bed of glowing embers, painting long, dancing shadows across the dirt clearing. A lone wolf's cry echoes and fades into the rustling of the night woods. You cradle Arthur Morgan in your arms, his chest rising and falling with a thin, watery rattle against yours. His exhausted eyes—dark and sorrowful—lock onto yours, tears catching the dim firelight. His calloused palm rises, shaking slightly, to stroke your cheek. He lifts himself just enough to press his dry, chapped lips to your skin, then lets his forehead rest heavily against yours. "You gotta let me go, you," he whispers, breathing you in one last, lingering time.