Arthur Morgan did not intend to survive when he gave his hat to John Marston and stayed behind to gain his redemption. As he crawled towards his final resting place, he never intended to wake up again.
But he does wake up. Thanks to time travelers F...
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1891
Arthur would have been lying if he said he wasn't in a good mood. He often felt cheerful as he rode through the woods of North Elizabeth. It felt like going home, in a way. Home to Eliza and Isaac, to Bear Glen, where he was truly happy.
It was autumn now, and nip in the air as the breeze fluttered through the brilliant, golden leaves of the aspen trees was pleasantly cool and fresh on Arthur's face. It wouldn't be long now until soft drifts of snow piled up like pillows across the land, and the icy chill of winter would come to cover everything in a soft blanket of white.
He looked forward to this as well, curling up next to Eliza in their bed to share his warmth with her. He'd never ceased wishing that he loved her, after all. It tore at him every time she smiled at him, every time the wind blew strands of her untidy, blond hair into her face or he watched her playing with Isaac. She made him happy. Were it not for the fact that Arthur knew he loved Mary more, he'd have given serious thought to leaving the gang to be with Eliza, and making them a proper family.
In any case, he was looking forward to spending all winter with her and the boy. Eliza had not replied to his letter yet, but she undoubtedly knew by now about the bank robbery in Cheyenne. She was likely angry at him, but he knew she'd cool down eventually. She never stayed angry at him for very long.
Humming to himself with a smile as he rode, Arthur's thoughts turned to Isaac. The boy was six now, and Arthur had brought him a small, wooden spinning top to play with, as well as a toy boat from Hosea that he could float in the water trough and have pretend sea battles with. Isaac didn't have many toys, and was always happy to get new ones.
The more the boy grew, the more he looked like Arthur, it seemed. The last time he'd seen Isaac had been a few months ago, and it seemed every time he saw him, the more he seemed to grow, like the weeds that sprouted up from the center of the road, between the wheel ruts. His eyes were still an exact copy of Arthur's too, and most of his facial features resembled Arthur's as they sharpened with age. Arthur could not have been prouder of the boy.
Suddenly, Boadicea stopped and stamped a hoof as though she were spooking at something. Her nostrils sniffed the breeze in great huffs, blowing steam into the chilly air. She nickered and sidestepped as her ears pricked forward, and Arthur gently rubbed her neck with his left hand while his right reached slowly for his gun.
A stroke of fear licked at Arthur's heart. They were just around the bend from Eliza's farmhouse, and although he couldn't see it from behind a stand of pine trees, Arthur realized what had spooked Boadicea.
It was entirely too quiet.
Normally, Arthur could hear the farm by now, whether that was the clucking of chickens or bleating of goats, along with happy cries and laughter as Isaac played outside. Now, the woods were as quiet as a tomb. Not a leaf rustled, not an animal moved, not even a insect chittered from the forest floor. It was so quiet Arthur could hear his ears ringing.
