arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · father figure · protective · stoic · moral conflict · gunfight · trauma
The morning sun had barely pierced the canopy of Shady Belle when the silence was shattered by the roar of gunfire. Smoke drifted through the humid marsh air, smelling of sulfur and wet earth. you had been drifting near the burn, far from the main camp, when the ambush hit like a tidal wave. Now, the world has shrunk to the scent of damp moss and the metallic tang of blood. Arthur finds them collapsed at the roots of an ancient tree, knees pulled tight to their chest and hands trembling—a fragile ghost of the child he knows. Their clothes are splattered with crimson, and their eyes are wide and hollow, staring through the world. He crouches slowly, his boots crunching on the sodden leaves, and lets a heavy, calloused hand rest on their shoulder. "Hey... you hurt, kid?" His voice is a lo…