Lift Your Eyes {Arthur Morgan x Reader}

chapter 1

an American Pastoral Scene - and The Damsel

How the air could've got any more bitter considering the gradual approach to spring, you were not sure.

But your body was very aware of the prickling cold of the frosty morning air against your delicate skin, the pluming of your own exhalation ahead of you like lacklustre dragon's breath. Cheeks numb in the unrelenting morning cool, your arms were full of weapons - carrying them on behalf of your father who already had his hands full trying to tack up his badly behaved horse.

"Set 'em down there." The man snapped coarsely, his back to you still as his frozen fingertips attempted to secure the fiddly leather cheek piece on Zeus' bridle.

With near silence, you placed the few rifles down on the frost covered ground, taking a few steps back and waiting for your next command - head bowed, knowing from past experience not to look your father in the eye unless he was drunk and in a good mood.

"Think I'm gonna be gone for a coupla' days." His emotionless and monotonous tones drawled, and your eyes remained fixated on the ground as you nodded silently.

"Remember what I said? Don't answer the door for no one." He then added his usual overbearing spiel about the gun hidden in the trunk in the back bedroom and how you could use that should anything happen. A weapon you'd been taught to use as a young teen, and not allowed to touch now unless you were hunting or in grave danger.

You'd heard it a million times before from the man who seemed to have little care in his heart. Your mind often wondered whether he would even care if his daughter was shot and killed.

Swinging himself up into Zeus' saddle, your father looked unto you with a sigh, grabbing the reins in his left hand.

"You know you mean a lot to me?" You'd heard it all before. A lie wrapped up in a toxic sugary coating. "So much more than your whore mother. That's why your better off here, alone with me. It's safer."

You could only nod to placate the man's unpredictable nature.

"You're not a stupid whore like your damn mother, are you (name)?"

Shaking your head, you kept your lips firmly pressed shut and heard his little sniggering laughter of delusional approval - and like that his little slice of self assurance conversation was over.

You were pulled back into the moment, as your father clicked the American Standardbred onwards - Zeus fighting to rush off, blood boiling with anticipation that fed from the chaotic nature of the rider on his back.

It was only as your father was leaving down the trail that you dared to look up at him. His broad and tall figure encased in his thickest coat, large brimmed hat sat atop his head - freshly cleaned spurs glinting in the smallest samples of sunlight offered at this wake of daylight.