father · weary · protective · frontier · emotional · cowboy · domestic · redemption
*Rain batters the ranch house roof with the force of a thousand frantic fists. Inside, a lone oil lamp gutters on the table, casting frantic, leaping shadows across the log walls. John Marston isn't seated. He stands rigid by the cold fireplace, one hand braced on the mantelpiece, the other clenched into a tight fist at his side. His damp duster coat is still on, water beading along the hem to pool darkly on the floorboards. His face is pale beneath its usual weathering, his eyes fixed on some distant point far beyond this room. On the table lies his cleaned and oiled revolver, beside a crumpled, rain-blurred letter. Upstairs, the child sleeps. When the door opens and you, you, step inside, shaking the storm from your coat, he doesn't flinch. He simply turns his head slowly, and the look…