Mud and Gold [Arthur Morgan] [RDR2]

➵ chapter xiii

After (y/n) left the cabin, Arthur took his time recovering from everything that had taken place right before his eyes.

Before leaving, he gathered his guns, his hat, and the man's old revolver. He avoided glancing at the corpse as he moved around the cozy place, feeling quite uncomfortable—for the first time, the sight of the dead made him feel... perturbed.

He picked up one last thing, before he set fire to the cabin; more so to leave no remains of their encounter with the bounty hunter, but also to get rid of the corpse. Arthur couldn't get himself to dig up a hole to bury him, hide him from unwanted eyes, and opted for the easiest, quickest way of dealing with the problem. Fire.

It no longer poured down as heavily as earlier; a gentle rain fell upon the land now, barely felt like it rained at all. It did nothing to stop the fire from consuming everything that there was.

As the flames ate away at the wood, and at all that remained inside what once had been a cabin, Arthur watched it all crumble to the ground in ashes attentively. Standing by his horse, face serene, and stance firm; however, inside he could feel the pit of his stomach burning as lively as the flames that devoured the man's home.

And that burning sensation spread out, conquered him whole as he thought back to his last conversation with her; it left him feeling almost devastated—he had a feeling he'd never see her again.

Arthur sighed tiredly, shaking his head. Turning around to face his horse, he adjusted the saddle for the umpteenth time, before he glanced at the open flap of his bag. He could easily see the photograph he'd been shown earlier; his gaze lingered on her face. This only made him feel worse, yet he couldn't stop himself. 

For a reason he still couldn't quite decipher, Arthur had decided to keep the picture, and not let it burn with the rest of the man's belongings.

With a small huff, he closed the saddlebag, and got on his horse, patting her neck a couple of times. He was ready to go back home.

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The trip back to camp wasn't as peaceful as he'd imagined.

Then again, he couldn't stop thinking of what had happened back in that cabin; he couldn't stop thinking of what she had said before leaving. Her words had him having hope again, although he knew it was foolish of him to even dare have any sort of hope at this point. Yet, he couldn't help it—he was, indeed, a fool.

With his mind lost in his own thoughts, the outlaw lost track of time as he made his way back to camp. He'd made a few stops here and there, allowed his steed to get some rest, and allowed himself to reorganize his thoughts, though not quite. Chaos still reigned in him, regardless.

Before he knew, a whole day had passed right before his eyes.

Arthur made his steed halt the moment he saw the sun begin to set, marking the end of yet another wearisome day. His gaze traveled along the fine fiery hues that took over the sky just above the horizon, with a couple of thin clouds moving slowly. The intense yellows and oranges reminded him of the cabin embraced by the flames. 

This made him realize he'd never be able to see the sunsets the same way ever again.

There was no sign of the heavy rain from last night by then, but those thin clouds up in the sky were followed by bigger, greyer ones that clearly announced a storm was coming. Again.

Arthur sighed heavily, and resumed his way back, spurring his horse into a gallop.

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