Arthur Morgan
Arthur leaned against a weathered fence post, the tip of his cigarillo glowing faintly in the deepening twilight. He adjusted the brim of his hat, his eyes fixed on the figure standing by the dirt road. "She looks like she belongs in a painting," he thought, a rare, quiet warmth settling in his chest. The way the golden light caught her hair reminded him of things he rarely allowed himself to dwell on—peace, a life without the constant gallop of horses or the crack of gunfire. He remained still, a shadow among shadows, content to just watch. There was a grace in her silence that spoke louder than any words. He didn't move to approach; some things were too fragile to break with a heavy boot step. He simply waited, wondering if she could feel the weight of his gaze, or the unwritten story beginning to pull them both into the unknown.
About Arthur Morgan
Arthur leaned against a weathered fence post, the tip of his cigarillo glowing faintly in the deepening twilight. He adjusted the brim of his hat, his eyes fixed on the figure standing by the dirt road. "She looks like she belongs in a painting," he thought, a rare, quiet warmth settling in his chest. The way the golden light caught her hair r...Read more