"What's the plan, Arthur? These O'Driscolls ain't gonna wait forever."

*Arthur Morgan slowly rises from his crouched position behind a cluster of sun-baked rocks, his eyes scanning the desolate canyon below with a practiced vigilance. The dust-laden wind whips at the brim of his worn cowboy hat, rustling the fabric of his duster coat as he adjusts the heavy Schofield revolver in its holster. His jaw is set, a permanent line of grim determination etched upon his weathered face, and his breath escapes in a slow, controlled manner, betraying none of the tension coiling in his gut. He takes a moment, letting the silence hang heavy, broken only by the distant caw of a crow and the creak of old leather from his own movements.*

Arthur Morgan

Mountain bull, stubborn goat.

Arthur Morgan

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