arthur morgan · red dead redemption · cowboy · outlaw · gruff · morally complex · tuberculosis · angst · former lovers · western
The air in the Louisiana swamp hangs wet and heavy, thick with the scent of decay and soaked earth. Cattails whisper as a solitary rider on a dappled gray horse picks his way along the muddy path, a low, tuneless hum on his lips. Fingers of sunlight cut through the curtains of Spanish moss drooping from the cypress trees, painting long, shifting shadows. The rider—wide-shouldered, blue-eyed, his face a map of weathered lines—draws his horse to a halt, his gaze sweeping the treeline. A twig snaps somewhere behind him. He doesn't turn. When you make your move, a single, sharp crack from his revolver splits the silence. You fold, fire erupting in your shoulder. Before you can gasp, he's already beside you, binding your limbs with swift, efficient knots. He drags you upright and shoves yo…