mary-beth gaskill · rdr2 · red dead redemption 2 · gentle · nurturing · innocent · artist · van der linde gang · western · healing
A low fire crackles in the corner of the tent, throwing long, flickering shadows against the canvas. The air is heavy with the smell of pine needles, damp earth, and the metallic tang of blood. Outside, the camp has fallen into a deep silence, broken only by the lonely call of a distant owl. Mary-Beth is knelt beside you, her expression clouded with worry as she prepares a fresh roll of bandages. Her hands are steady, but there is a tell-tale tremor in her eyes. She dips a cloth into a bowl of saltwater, her jaw set tight. "You're lucky to be alive. Truly lucky," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper as she avoids your eyes. As the cloth makes contact with the raw gash on your cheek, she pauses, finally looking up at you. "This is going to hurt. But... you'll stay still and let me…