WOLFISH ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

Ch. III

He was quite the gentleman, or as close as a man you'd met in the middle of nowhere could get. He'd oh-so-kindly offered you a seat on his horse. So there you were, on the saddle, clutching your shoulder, the fur of the beast that may have just caused all of this brushing against your back with every step the steed took.

The man was walking beside the animal, holding the reins loosely.

"How far is that camp?"

"With every single word that comes out of your mouth, you make me wish more and more I'd let that thing get the best of ya." He switched the cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other. "It ain't far."

"You've mentioned that before."

"Well that's because it ain't far."

Silence.

"A more precise description would be nice."

You'd never heard a sigh contain such a perfect combination of both anger and annoyance. Until then.

"How about you bring the map and I'll bring the pencil next time, and I'll show you goddamn precise." He growled under his breath.

"Alright, what scale should the map be?" You answered on the same tone.

"I'm prayin' to whatever's out there I won't see you again anytime soon." Now that he was looking down, it was impossible to see his face, but you were certain there was a small, barely visible smirk on it.

You chuckled in amusement, yet were cut short by another sharp pain in your shoulder. Goddamnit. Your whole arm had started pulsating, and you were more than certain that the blood had soaked up through at least half of your shirt.

He had caught up on the subtle hiss of pain, yet hadn't said anything about it. "You know, I had—have?...ah, it don't matter— I had a friend once that uh...got mauled by wolves too. Marston's his name." Was he...trying to distract you from the pain? "They got his face ripped up pretty bad. Poor bastard wasn't so lucky."

"Is that supposed to mean I'm on a roll right now?"

He chuckled, and you couldn't help but note it sounded lighthearted and genuine for once. "Sure, if that's what you wanna call it."

"Speaking of calling. I don't know what to call you."

He paused, and you didn't even need to see his face to know that his thoughts were racing. However the silence did not last longer than a second.

"Callahan. Arthur Callahan."

Only then were you reminded of the reason you had even gotten into the whole situation.

Arthur Morgan. Was he...? Could he be him? You hadn't properly looked at Morgan's wanted poster, at least not enough to have his features ingrained into your brain, and hadn't caught a proper glimpse of this man's face either. And then again, the name Arthur was anything but rare, and the family names didn't coincide. He could've used a fake one, of course, but he could've also just been an unfortunate guy that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the other way around, considering he'd saved you, you supposed.

"(Y/n) (l/n)."

"I'd love to shake hands with you, miss (l/n), but..." His quick gaze skipped to your bloodied right hand, which you were pressing over the injury to stop the bleeding. "I think I'll hold back for now."

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He hadn't lied about his camp being far. In roughly ten minutes of leisurely walking, you'd reached a dying campfire and a tent. Beside it, you recognized a small and furry sleeping figure you knew far too well.

"Believe me now?" Arthur asked, letting go of the reins. A heavy sentiment of guilt settled in your stomach: you'd misjudged him. Pointing a gun at him, every snarky word addressed at him—you felt genuinely bad about your behavior. But then again, it was better safe than sorry, and you'd rather be rude than dead.

"Yeah. Sorr-" You caught yourself before you finished your apology, and corrected it in the hopes of him not noticing. "So. How'd you find my dog, again?"

Lobo's ears immediately perked up when he heard your voice. With quick, playful movements, he'd uncurled from the position he slept in, pulling against the rope that tied him to Arthur's tent taut in an attempt to reach you.

"Came up to me in the middle of the night and started lickin' my face." Arthur chuckled. He approached his tent and untied the rope from around Lobo's neck. The dog immediately ran up to the horse you were seated on. "You better tie him up next time, before he goes around lickin' the entire nation's mugs."

"Will do, thanks for the suggestion." You shifted your right leg to sit on the saddle sideways, then dropped to the ground. Even after such a small fall, you were reminded of the wound, throbbing and soaking through your shirt further and further. It was best you'd start leaving now that you'd retreived Lobo. Though it was admittedly quite foolish of you to have left your horse back at camp—you doubted it could hear you from your current location.

"Well, I should—"

"Do you—" The both of you spoke at the same time. A pregnant pause followed, in which Arthur coughed awkwardly. "Uh, you first."

"I was...gonna say that I should get leaving." You answered, then whistled for Lobo to follow. "And you?"

"I was 'boutta say the opposite."

"That's..." unusually kind? almost outrageously polite for a man you'd literally met in a forest not more than 10 minutes ago? "...very unexpected, mister Callahan. I..."

"Look, you don't gotta stay if you really find me that terrifyin', but I figured this is the least I can do for someone that helped me get a proper shot on the wolf I'd been after for a few days." He scratched the nape of his neck.

"So that's what this is about?" You held back a laugh at the situation. "You feel guilty for accidentally using me as bait?"

"Now that you put it that way..." He sighed, then grunted. "Yeah."