(Red Dead Redemption 2 Story)
'𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 - 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.'
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From the author that brought you 'Playing Dangerous'
You are the daughter of one of the most brutal, sought after 'Guns for Hire'...
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The surveillance of alarmed eyes were straight on you as you lead the way back into camp, Mavis obediently tethering Artemis and her injured rider. As you had rode through the tangle of trees and the dense shade of the leaves coming up to Horseshoe Overlook, you had felt a sickly tension in your gut, fearful over what had happened and worried for Arthur's health.
Before you could even try to explain the basics of what happened, the members of the gang flocked over as the horses reached the clearing of camp.
"Mr Morgan!" The woman you'd been introduced to as Miss Grimshaw, gasped upon the sight of the wounded and pain-stricken cowboy, flocking over with concern all over her face. "What in the world happened?"
The bullet wound, the rabbit and deer carcasses upon the horses - it was clear some persons were putting two and two together and assuming the worst.
"I thought y' said she could hunt, Dutch?" A heavily bearded man scoffed, slumped lazily in a chair. You couldn't recall having met him yet. He had a cocky and arrogant presence to him - a quality you didn't find all too appealing.
"Looks like the girl can't even aim proper." He added, taking a swig from a beer bottle. Face crumpled, you were about to lay into this idiot when Arthur interrupted.
"Shut the hell up, Bill." He snapped, in between groans as Charles and Lenny helped him down from Artemis' back, making their best attempts to be careful.
"This was O Driscoll's." Morgan gruffed, clutching his injured arm as Charles went to take Artemis to the grazing patch.
The man named Bill backed down then, brushing his defeated silence off with a nonchalant sip of his beer. All you could do was smile smugly to yourself once his trap was shut.
"I suspect this is revenge for what we did up at O Driscoll shithole when we was up North." Dutch sighed, and if anyone could smoke a cigar with a level of concern it was him. He puffed in a slow manner, like his mind was busy figuring out the next steps.
Meanwhile, Miss Grimshaw escorted Arthur back to his personal quarters, the small peaceful spot where the wagon sat just by the edge of camp, near the cliff side. You looked on with a feeling of unease, you felt partially responsible for his injury. If you had acted sooner, gone against his commands to keep you safe then he'd probably be alright.
Untacking Mavis, you draped her saddle over the hitching post bar and draped her bridle from the end post, brushing down her coat whilst you contemplated taking all these rabbits over to Mr Pearson, but you felt uncomfortable mixing with people now. What if they blamed you too for Arthur's injury? Maybe they too, would think you were crap for not acting sooner.
A weighted feeling settled heavy in your gut, a nervous discomfort as you carried two handfuls of the rabbit carcasses over to Pearson's wagon, where the portly man welcomed them warmly.
