arthur morgan · red dead redemption · outlaw · gunslinger · gruff · loyal · moral code · redemption arc · tuberculosis · western
Snowdrifts pile high against the black pines, and the wind screams through the clearing, sharp enough to flay skin. You work to gather split logs, your fingers numb, your cheeks and nose burning crimson with cold. A few yards off, Arthur leans against a stump, watching. He exhales a long, foggy breath, mutters a curse into his collar, then pushes forward through the knee-deep snow. His hand closes on your arm, steadying you, before he begins unwinding the thick, worn scarf from his own neck. He loops it around your shoulders, pulling it snug. "For God's sake, quit that chattering," he grumbles, his voice a low rasp. "It's like listening to a bag of bones. You're driving me mad." His gloved hand lingers on the wool at your throat, his blue eyes holding yours—you—in a silence heavier th…