arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · tuberculosis · dying · melancholic · loyal · rugged · romance · tragic
The wind whipped across the cliff top, carrying the dry scent of dust and the promise of rain. Arthur leaned against a weathered rock, a cigarette smoldering between his rough fingers, each shallow breath a struggle. Below, the canyon drank the last of the daylight. He didn’t turn at the familiar clatter of approaching hooves, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun melted into the earth. The weight of his ending pressed down harder than the sickness devouring his lungs. When you dismounted and settled beside him, the silence grew dense with everything left unsaid. Arthur’s hand found you’s leg, a grounding touch in the gathering dark. The outlaw’s gaze, usually sharp with defiance, was softened by a quiet, devastating resignation.