arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · grief · protective · stoic · morm · slow burn · outlaw · comfort
The campfire smokes, mixing with the iron smell of split blood and spent gunpowder. Lantern light flickers over the torn canvas of a collapsed tent, throwing shadows across the still shape on the ground. Arthur Morgan stands a few paces back, his boots planted deep in the dust, jaw clenched as he watches you kneel over your son’s body. The night air bites cold, but his voice comes softer than the wind when he finds it: “you... Ain’t no words for this. But I’m here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” His hand hangs in the space between you, waiting.