WOLFISH ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

Ch. VII

A few minutes of persuasion (and assuring Arthur that your wound was much better) later, you found yourself on the back of your horse as it lazily trotted just behind your newfound acquaintance's. Lobo had to run a bit to be able to keep up, but you knew for a fact your dog never minded running for miles on end. You even suspected it made him happy.

Arthur seemed to know exactly which way he was going, and for a second, you wondered if he had a compass somewhere in his hands or just knew the road that well. Regardless, the continuously dropping temperatures only confirmed you were headed north — well, north-east, but you couldn't be bothered to be nitpicky. Not when a walking compass was leading the way. Well, a riding compass, but still.

"So, you was sayin' you used to catch horses for a livin'?" You almost flinched the moment he started talking.

You'd taken Arthur Callahan for an adept of silence until the moment he'd spoken up after quite a pause. Though one look at him immediately told you otherwise: he wasn't even close to planning on being talkative. Just curious.

A part of you started wondering why exactly. Surely, especially after the not-so-grand entrance you'd made, he couldn't find you all that interesting. And the other part — the one that won— was more than glad to indulge him. "Well, not for a living, but...in an attempt to make some extra cash. I already had everything else I needed, food and shelter-wise." That alone had earned a confused frown from him, and you clarified: "Because of my aunt. She took me in when I was just a kid."

"Hm." Was the only sound Arthur had deemed worthy as an answer for you. He glanced down at the reins he'd clasped lazily in one hand, then leaned forward to give his horse a pat on the side of its neck. There was a certain absence in his motions, punctuating the wheels turning in his head. "Wish I had an aunt that coulda taken me in."

"Why, what's your story, then, mister Callahan?" You asked, spurring on your horse just enough to make it trot beside his.

"Ah, jus' pick up any novel about any orphaned boy and it'll be right there."

You frowned. His personality was an unusual mix of both brash honesty as well as secrecy and it sure did a marvelous job at confusing the living hell out of you. Who exactly was this man you considered a decent fellow?

"Come on, now, surely there's something that sets you apart." You smiled, hoping that would be enough to coax him into giving away more.

"I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you." He stated plainly, then spurred on his horse a little. You didn't know why, but you were set on finding out more about him. And you'd be damned if you weren't going to.

"Can I try guessing, then?"

He tilted his head when he looked at you, cocking a brow. "Guessing what?"

"Your past."

There was a look of surprise on his face, but Arthur made a quick job of concealing it with his hat and then looking straight ahead to avoid your gaze. "Sure."

"Your parents died in an accident of some sort?"

"No."

"Robbery?"

"No."

"Shooting?"

Instead of giving you the low, disinterested 'no', he stopped for a second, pondering his following words. He started up at the sky for a few more seconds, then hesitantly answered: "One of 'em."

"And the other?"

"I thought you was doing the guessing." Arthur said, then pulled the reins, bringing his horse to a halt. " 's gonna get cold soon, we should put on our coats."

He hadn't even bothered being subtle about changing the subject, though you supposed subtlety wasn't part of his strengths. Still, after realizing that he had avoided the subject like it was the plague, you couldn't help but think that you might have gone too far with your questioning. Subtlety didn't seem to be your forte either. You moved your gaze down to your hands, fiddling with the reins.

He had dropped down from the saddle, and begun digging through its bags without paying you any mind. Was he ignoring you? Christ, you really had struck a nerve, hadn't you? The uneasy, cold feeling of guilt settled in your stomach.

"I'm sorry." You blurted out before you could even process what you were doing.

Arthur stopped his search abruptly. You could practically feel his glance rest on you without even looking at him. Great. To think that you'd been blaming this man for lacking talent in the art of diction when you were like this?

"Sorry? The hell you feelin' sorry for?" He asked, and suddenly, the tension you hadn't even realized had built in your shoulders subsided.

"I...don't know." You laughed nervously and buried your face in your hands. What was wrong with you? You weren't like this! Not so helpless, so clumsy, so incalculable and all-around foolish. But why did this man make you feel like the biggest idiot to ever walk on-

"Come on now, we got a horse to catch. Unless you'd rather bail on me. In which case, Valentine is that w-"

"No." You said firmly, then bit your lip. "I said I would do it, so I ain't backing down until I have."

"Well then. I'm waitin', but the storm ain't." Arthur nodded at the sky, then slung the jacket he'd pulled out of the saddlebag over his back. You followed his gesture with your gaze, and your stomach almost dropped at the unwelcoming, grim color of the sky in the direction you were headed.

You tried swallow down the uneasiness building in your chest, then glided off your horse easily. Realizing you had stopped for a break, Lobo had sat down right beside you, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he heaved from the effort watched and Arthur put on his coat. There was something sharp and attentive in the dog's usually lazy and playful gaze.

As you turned around to search for your own jacket you couldn't help but wonder what exactly you'd gotten yourself into.