WOLFISH ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

Ch. IX

"Okay, I'll have a go at breaking it, and you get your lasso ready in case it decides to run o—"

"Break it? With that shoulder?" He scoffed in amusement, getting off his horse to slowly approach you. When Arthur caught sight of your slightly hurt but nonetheless determined expression, he sighed, crossing his arms. "If this about provin' yourself of somethin' like that, then know—"

"No. This is about showing you how it's done." You faked confidence, not even thinking twice before positioning yourself at the horse's side, giving him one last smug glance. "Watch and learn, cowboy."

The events that followed weren't something to learn from, but quite certainly something to watch.

The horse had tried to buck you off before you'd even managed to climb onto its back properly, which resulted in you wrapping your arms around its neck and hanging onto it for dear life—but that didn't last long either. Seconds later, you realized you'd been practically flung off the steed, and landed ungracefully on the ground. 'Ungracefully', of course, being a light way of putting 'face-first'.

The sounds around you were muffled by the snow caving around your form, but one thing you'd heard clearly: "I gotta give it to ya, that's quite the way to tame a horse."

Next thing you knew, Lobo had dug himself into the snow beside you and started pushing against your side and wagging his tail. You groaned, then slowly pushed yourself up, the familiar pain from yesterday making itself known in the bite mark on your shoulder. Your dog, bless him, attempted to help by licking your face, and while it really didn't help at all, you could appreciate the intention. Unlike Arthur, who didn't—

"You alright?" The man asked almost worriedly while he approached you. You noticed he'd tied the Arabian to a nearby tree, and had to admit he'd done it admirably quickly.

"Yeah." You confirmed, though the answer was more instinctual than truthful, and you sat up. Arm shaky, you reached for your shoulder, moving away your clothes just enough to slip it below and check the bandage.

"Good. C'mon." Arthur offered you his hand. With reluctance, you removed it from your shoulder put it in his, and were pulled back onto your feet before you could even process it. And boy, were you not ready for it.

The world began spinning as if you were on some kind of makeshift carrousel, your head going fuzzy with warmth and nausea.

Like some kind of newborn animal, you stumbled forward, having to brace a hand against his chest to stabilize yourself and not fall right into his arms. Damnit.

He tensed under your palm, but didn't pull away nor come any closer. Just provided you with the needed stability, which you were more than thankful for.

A few seconds passed, in which you didn't even get to worry about the awkwardness of the situation, simply because you hadn't even managed to gather yourself, and were simultaneously rushing to put a diagnosis as to why exactly the nausea had kicked in so suddenly. Had you hit your head when you fell? Somehow caused the wound to rip open again and lost blood?

The rumble in Arthur's chest stemming from an awkward cough snapped you out of your thoughts. You took a quick, cautionary half-step backwards, away from him. "Shit, sorry."

" 'S alright, I..." Arthur shook his head, letting out a dragged exhale. Something about the way he turned away from you, wading through the snow, sharply and quickly, made it look as if he was scolding someone, and for a second you wondered if that person was himself. "I'll do somethin' about the horse." Arthur stopped and glanced at you over his shoulder. "Can you try settin' up a campfire while I do that? Break off a few branches, I— here." He dug through his satchel and threw a matchbox at you, which you clumsily caught.

With a damaged pride and equally damaged shoulder, you nodded, in spite of the fact that he wasn't able to see it, and made your way to some nearby trees to gather the needed firewood.

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Absentmindedly, you dipped a thicker branch you'd found into the flickering flames, watching them as they slowly but surely grew. Lobo had fallen asleep at your feet. After bringing Arthur's horse next to yours and closer to the campfire, you'd discovered a percolator in his saddlebags and decided to prepare some coffee. From time to time, you peeked at Arthur, who, bless him, continued to showed just how tenacious he was. He'd been bucked off at least three times so far, and was climbing onto the mare's back for a fourth, but equally fruitless ride, it seemed.

"Come on, now, don't be like that—!" Arthur yanked back the horse's reins when it began writhing under him. It neighed, jumping a bit, but finally, took a step backwards, violent moves destined to shake the rider off slowly mellowing down to a reluctant walk. "Good. That's it." Came Arthur's prompt praise, garnished with a pat on the neck.

The horse shook, perhaps in a last attempt at disobedience, but finally gave in, and followed his commands.

Arthur wasn't frugal with his praise every time the animal listened, and before you even knew it, you found yourself smiling fondly at the scene before you. He guided the mare towards you, feeding it an apple as encouragement when it complied almost immediately.

A few meters away, he stopped it slowly, and got off its back, taking it by the reins to guide it to his horse, and tied the makeshift reins to his steed's saddle.

There was a barely audible sigh after he had done so, and when he began making his way towards you. His expression lit up when he caught sight of the coffee, which made you grin.

"Fourth time's a charm." You said with chuckle when he dropped down on the blanket you'd set up next to the fire. Arthur tilted his head at the comment, a grin taking over his expression.

"You kept count?" He asked with a hint of surprise in his voice while he reached for the percolator and poured himself a cup.

"It doesn't take a genius to count to four."

He took a sip, closing his eyes as if to savor the taste, then briefly licked his lips. "Marston's gonna be real happy to hear that." He said that more to himself than to you, but when he noticed your curious expression, he explained nonetheless. "A friend. The same one that got mauled by wolves."

Marston? Where had you heard that name before?

It sounded oddly familiar, yet you couldn't put your finger on it. Marston, Marston, Marston. You continued repeating it in your mind, struggling to figure out what first name could possibly fit with it. Something with J, you were sure of it. Joe Marston? Jim? John?

"Coffee's good, by the way." Arthur spoke up, which made you snap out of your thoughts.

"Ah, figured you might like it after, well..." You nodded at the Arabian. "All of that. Is your back okay?"

He nodded absentmindedly, still focused on his beverage. "How 'bout your shoulder?"

"Better."

"Good." Arthur finished the cup of coffee, throwing back the last bit of liquid. Languidly, he got up, rolling his shoulders and causing his joints to crack. "Reckon I should set up the tent. You joinin' me or sleepin' under the stars?"

"Joining." You said and got up, following him to the horses, getting your own supplies with the same intentions as him in mind. The both of you worked silently, but you didn't mind, for some reason. Instead, your mind wandered off to where your thoughts left off—and then it hit you. John Marston. On a bounty poster, in big, black, bold letters.