#((I’m thinking this is like at the start of rdr2 where John’s injured from his lil adventure))

[tugsheartstrings]

@rcckstars

It’s dark. The air is brittle; the moonlight that illuminates the little clearing where they sit and keep watch is chilly and silver with wintertime frost. Solomon keeps stealing glances at John’s wound.

It’s bad. Puffy and red and crusted with blood and pus—and while he’s no doctor, he picked up a few first aid tricks from one, and these stitches… Well. They’re lacking. To put it politely. They need to be redone, or at least cleaned.

He clears his throat. First noise he’s made since he joined the gang.

“Your stitches are infected.”

[queenxxxsupreme]

Aftermath (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: Here is my masterlist and here is the link to go to if you’d like to be on any of my taglists! My latest rdr2 fic was a Charles fluffy piece called The Chase if you want to check it out :)

Warnings: mentions of falling off a train, hurt reader, descriptions  of wounds and blood, but mostly fluffiness

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: After a heist ends badly, Arthur cleans you up and chastises you for not being more careful. 

***

Your horse came to a stop in front of the hitch post just outside of camp. You paused for a moment to breathe now that you were safe. 

Your heart was still racing from the events of earlier and your hands gripped your horse’s reins so tightly that your knuckles hurt. But that pain was nothing compared to the rest of your body. 

“Need a hand, Y/N?” Lenny asked, tying his horse up and moving towards you. 

“Get me down before Arthur-,” You stopped, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth making your stomach clench up. You knew it was him. 

Lenny helped you down from your horse, catching you as you slipped down from the saddle. You tried to put weight on your left leg, but the pain in your ankle was too much. You nearly collapsed. 

“Easy there, Y/N.” Lenny kept his arm around you. 

Your eyes caught sight of Arthur and John coming into camp. 

“Go, Lenny.” You urged, letting him go and giving him a push away from you. 

“Are you sure, Y/N? You can’t even stand on your own.”

“I’ll be fine, Lenny.” You assured him, leaning against the hitch post for support. “He’s angry and I don’t want him yellin’ at you.”

“Tie ‘er up.” You heard Arthur tell John, no doubt talking about his horse. You couldn’t bring yourself to look in the direction of his voice. 

You took a deep breath and started to make your way across camp to yours and Arthur’s tent. You gritted your teeth together. Your nails dug into your palms from how tightly your fingers were curled up. But you pushed through the pain and kept going. You just needed to make it to the tent before Arthur could make a scene in front of everyone. 

“Y/N!” Susan gasped. “What in the hell happened to you, girl?”

You wanted to shake it off, to tell her you were fine, but you knew if you opened your mouth you’d make some sort of pained sound, something that would alert a certain outlaw that you were more injured than you let on. 

“Don’t let her walk away from you, Mrs. Grimshaw.” Arthur spoke, his voice deep and devoid of the usual teasing tone he had when he spoke towards you. 

“What happened, Arthur?” Hosea moved towards you both, wanting to make sure you were okay. 

You shook your head, still hastily walking in the direction of the tent.

“Y/N!”

You didn’t acknowledge Arthur. 

“Don’t you walk away from me, woman!”

You were so close to the tent, maybe another six steps and then you’d be able to—

A large hand grabbed hold of your arm and he pulled you around to face him. You lost your balance, stepping on to your left leg. You cried out in pain and your knee buckled. 

Arthur caught you, one of his arms wrapping around your torso while the other grabbed your hip. 

“Let me go, Arthur!” You pushed against him, your hands flat against his chest as you tried to put as much space between yourself and him as possible. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid, Y/N. Ya got a busted ankle. Shouldn’t be walkin’ on it.”

“I can handle it my-damn-self!” You protested, still pushing against him. You tried to pry his hands away from you, to break his firm grip on you by grabbing his fingers and pulling away but he wasn’t letting go. 

“Quit being so goddamned stubborn, woman.” Arthur growled through clenched teeth. “Ya just fell off a fuckin’ movin’ train! Stop tryin’ to act so tough!”

“Get your hands off of me, Arthur Morgan!”

“Enough!” Dutch boomed, sending a wave of silence across the whole camp. It was only then that you realized everyone was watching you look like a fool. 

Arthur released you. The second he did, your weight was naturally distributed to both of your legs. You winced and lost your balance, using a crate by John and Abigail’s tent for support. 

Arthur flinched as if he’d catch you, but you caught yourself before he could come to the rescue. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Dutch asked, a furrow in his brow. 

“M’fine.” You forced through gritted teeth. “Wish people would stop askin’ me that.”

“Looks like you got into a bad fight at the saloon and lost.” Micah commented. 

“I’ll fucking show you a bad fight, you fucking inbreed-,”

“You better watch your mouth-,”

“I might be torn to hell but I will beat your ass into the ground-,”

“Cool it, both of you!” John intervened, stepping in front of Micah. 

“You can barely stand on your own, and you’re covered in blood.” Dutch said.  

“S’not my own.” You muttered, but he didn’t bother to listen to you. “Least I don’t think it is.”

“We don’t need you dyin’ off from an infected wound, Y/N. If you won’t let Arthur help you patch yourself up, have one of the girls do it.”

You nodded, locking your jaw tightly. 

Hosea shooed everyone away, knowing very well you’d pick Arthur. You were thankful that he’d give you guys some privacy. It was hard when the only walls you had in camp were made of canvas. 

“Are ya gonna stop bein’ a stubborn ass so I can help you?” Arthur asked. 

You nodded, keeping your eyes down. 

He moved towards you, carefully scooping you up bridal style. You winced, eyes squeezing shut. The way you were moved created a sharp pain in your ribs. 

Arthur took you to your shared tent and sat you down on the cot. 

“Start taking off your clothes.” He moved away from you and began to unravel the sides of the tent to give you privacy. 

Your hands were too heavy. Your muscles ached. Even the thought of moving brought on pain. You knew very well you wouldn’t be able to undress by yourself. 

Arthur glanced over his shoulder to look at you and saw that you were just staring at the picture of his mother he had framed on the chest next to the cot. 

“Pumpkin?”

“Hm?” You didn’t tear your eyes away from the picture. He could see it in your eyes. You weren’t really there with him. You were in your head. Arthur let out a gentle sigh, rubbing the side of his head, and moved to kneel down in front of you. The movement caught your attention, drawing your eyes to him. 

You took in a little breath, straightening your posture as your eyes focused on him. 

“M’gonna go get some things to clean you up with. Get some of your clothes off so I can see what we gotta deal with okay?” His voice, though deep and rumbly, was sweet and gentle. “Maybe put on your little gown, okay? That way we can see everything without you bein’ so uncovered.”

You said nothing, but you kept your eyes on him, on his lips more specifically. He wasn’t sure if you were actually getting everything he was saying, or if you were still zoned out. 

“Can you do that for me, pumpkin?”

You nodded your head a little. 

He rubbed the outside of your thigh before standing up and leaving the tent. 

You watched him go and for some reason seeing him leave made your heart beat harder and faster. Tears stung your eyes and you quickly brought your hand up to wipe them away. 

The events of earlier that day flashed through your head.

It was supposed to be an easy train robbery. Dutch and Hosea had planned it out with Arthur taking the lead. You joined him with Lenny, John, Javier, and Sean. 

Everything went smoothly until another group of eight men on horses showed up with plans to rob the train themselves. And as luck would have it, you used to run with one of the men. He was anything but a nice guy and definitely not someone you wanted to run into during a heist. 

When Arthur returned to the tent, he found you sitting on the cot hunched forward with your head in your hands. You weren’t changed out of your clothes and it appeared that you were crying. 

He placed the bowl of warm water down on the chest by the cot and put the other supplies in his arms down as well. 

He knelt down in front of you, large hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your hands from your face. Your cheeks were stained with tears and your eyes were red. 

“Are you cryin’ cause I was yellin’ at ya?”

You shook your head. 

“Are you hurtin’?”

You nodded. 

“Where at, pumpkin?”

“Everywhere, Arthur.” You cried quietly. “I-I’m so-sorry.”

“Don’t start that now.” He shook his head. “Won’t do you any good to start apologizin’ while you’re upset like this. It’ll just make ya even more upset. Don’t want ya makin’ yourself sick. Now let’s get you outta these clothes.”

“I-I can’t-Arthur, I’m just-,” You couldn’t seem to form sentences even though you knew what you wanted to say. The adrenaline had worn off and you were exhausted. You just wanted to sleep, but you knew Arthur wouldn’t let you do that just yet. 

“S’alright, pumpkin. I’ll help ya.” He reached up and began to unbutton your shirt. 

You fell silent, sniffling every now and then. 

Once your shirt was unbuttoned, he carefully pulled it off of your shoulders. 

“Shit, Y/N.” Arthur cursed under his breath. With your shirt gone, the bruising on your arms and chest could now be seen. 

There were hand-shaped bruises along your upper arms and a few cuts on the back of your right forearm. Your chest had a long bruise across it too. It was an odd pattern and Arthur couldn’t figure out quite what it was. 

“I-I didn’t….” Arthur reached out to tentatively trace his fingers over the bruising on your bicep. “Did I….?”

“No.” Your voice was raspy. “That’s not from you. There was a man on the train. He caught me off guard. He’s the one who gave me a busted face.”

Arthur pressed his lips together in a firm line. You could see the anger festering behind his eyes. His large hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across the corner of your cracked lips. You winced a little. He apologized softly. 

“What about the one on your chest?”

“There was another feller, he used a metal bar to clothes line me.”

He pulled his hand from your face, eyes lingering on the nasty bruise on your chest. 

“The second I got my footing, I put a knife between his ribs.” 

“That’s my girl.” He praised, making your heart race. 

Arthur reached around you to find the strings to your corset. With one effortless tug, the corset loosened and you took a breath. 

“I know you’re happy to be outta that.” Arthur tossed the corset to the foot of the cot. “Ya think you could stand so we can get your jeans offa ya?”

“I can stand on my right, but not my left.”

“I’ll be on your left. You lean against me. How about that?”

You nodded. Arthur stood up and helped you to your feet. You slipped an arm around his shoulders, grabbing a fistful of his jacket to brace yourself. He put an arm around you too. 

“How am I supposed to get my jeans off when I got one arm around you and you got one arm around me?” You asked him. 

He paused for a moment and you watched as he thought about it. 

“Well, I gotta hand and you gotta hand. Why don’t we use ‘em both?” He suggested. 

You giggled. 

It took some effort, but the two of you worked together to unbutton your jeans and get them down. 

Arthur nearly had a heart attack when he saw the cut on your thigh. How did he not see it before? 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

“M’fine, Arthur.”

He got you into your nightgown and then sat you back down on the bed. 

He started with the thigh wound, cleaning the dried blood and then wrapping a bandage around your leg. From there, he looked down at your ankle. A bruise had already formed and around the joint was swollen. 

He sighed out, then turned his attention to the bowl of warm water. He dipped the clean rag into the water and rung it out. His eyes flickered up to your face. He paused for a moment. 

Your nose had been bleeding but now the blood was smeared across your cheek, dried. Bruising trailed from underneath your eye down to your cheekbone where a cut was from a fist. Your lips were busted and split open. The corners of your eyes were black and blue. Your nose didn’t look broken, so that was good. 

He let out another sigh. You knew he was trying to keep his emotions at bay. 

“I…. Arthur, m’sorry.” You whispered, your voice breaking from how quiet you were. 

He shook his head. His jaw ticked as the muscle tightened. He was gritting his teeth together. 

“How could you be so stupid, Y/N? Told you to wait for Javier or John. I knew there were men coming but you didn’t listen.”

“You would’ve done the same.”

“But I wouldn’t’a been thrown from the goddamned train.”

“You don’t know that.” You mumbled under your breath. 

Arthur took hold of your chin, turning your head so you had no choice but to look at him. 

“Don’t get that way with me, pumpkin.” He started to wipe blood from under your nose. “You could’ve died today. I…. I could’ve lost ya.”

You fell silent. 

He cleaned the blood from your face, using soft, gentle brushes with the rough rag. 

“Arthur? Y/N?” Mary Beth spoke from outside of the tent.

“It’s alright, Mary Beth.” Arthur dipped the rag into the water. “You can step in.”

You looked to him then down at his chest. 

“Just wanted to bring Y/N some supper. Thought maybe she’d be hungry.” Her eyes found you and she gasped softly. “Oh, Y/N. You….” She trailed off. 

“I’m okay.” You assured her, offering her a little smile.

“Thank you, Mary Beth.” Arthur took the bowl of soup from her and placed it down on the chest by the cot. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” She asked softly.

“Get me some fresh water in this bowl please, would ya?” Arthur asked her. 

“Of course.”

As she slipped out of the tent, Arthur returned his attention to you. 

“The man who threw me over….” You started, but trailed off, unable to finish. 

“I’m gonna find him and kill ‘em.”

“No, Arthur.” Your eyes widened as you looked up at Arthur. “Please. You-You have to promise me never-to never go after him. I’m-I’m fine. Just a little beat up is all.”

Arthur furrowed his brows together. 

“Do you…. You know that feller, don’t you?”

“Used to run with him.” You answered quietly. “He’s not someone you play with, Arthur. He’s worse than Micah.” 

Arthur sighed through his nose. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me back there that you knew him?”

“It wasn’t really high on my list when we had fellers shootin’ at us, Arthur.”

He rubbed his brow.

“I know you’re mad at me.”

“M’not mad at ya, pumpkin. Just…. I was scared that I was gonna lose you.” 

You turned your head away from him but he wouldn’t let you look away for very long. With two fingers beneath your chin, he turned your head back to him. 

“When I saw you go over the side of that train, I-I fuckin’ lost it. Nearly beat the piss outta poor Lenny ‘cause he was in my way. Couldn’t get to you fast enough.” Arthur shook his head. He brushed a tear from your cheek. “When we finally stopped the train and I found you….” He trailed off. 

“It don’t matter now, Arthur. I’m here.” You reminded him, turning your head to kiss his palm. 

“Yeah, but that’s not the point, Y/N.”

“We got dangerous lives, Arthur. You can’t protect me from everything.”

“I can damn sure try.” He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “You mean the world to me, pumpkin. Ain’t gonna let shit happen to you. Even if that means I gotta stop you from doin’ stupid shit.”

You smiled a little, leaning forward to tuck your head underneath his chin.

Taglist:  @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm  

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[manicmarsupial]

The Smallest Outlaw Chapter 4- The Point of Snow Return

I’ve really got to progress to the Horseshoe Overlook chapter. I’m running out of snow puns. A bit of a boring chapter, but there is Ollie’s origins and a small (lol) physical description...that’s kind of it really. Also...I really stink at trying to write accents because of stupid hearing

I’m still trying to figure out if this story will follow the plotline exactly or make it in to a fix-it fic. Oh the choices...help...

As usual, feel free to submit ideas you would like to see. Also, acknowledgments and thank yous to @yeenybeanies (Devin is awesome), @lilnoodlegal (Outlaws and Winglings is a much better story than my brain barf shitposting), and @tiny-james (for fuelling the fire of my madness regarding RDR2 G/t).

Feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged for updates to this story. Let’s get this started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t know when I fell asleep. I’m no longer on a wooden surface in front of the fire. Judging from the feeling, I’m still wrapped up in Hosea’s scarf…and it’s dark. One surface I’m resting against is moving steadily. Occasionally I can hear a deep thump.

I try to adjust my position to get more information. I hear a questioning hum reverberate above me. A sliver of light above me widens. As my eyes adjust to the light, I see the towering figure of Hosea. I unconsciously attempt to retreat.

“Mornin’ Ollie,” he smiles as he looks down at me.

I look around. As well as being wrapped up in his scarf, he also had me under his coat. That explains the movement and the thumping.

“Morning,” I mumble in return.

I cover my eyes and hide back into the scarf, whining about bright light. Hosea’s chuckle rumbles through his chest as I feel the woollen material close around me. I brace myself as I feel my confines move.

“You have an explanation due,” I hear Hosea’s voice almost directly outside.

I emit a grumpy ‘no’ sound and burrow further into the scarf.

“Are you going to continue this stubbornness?”

“Yah huh.”

“Just my luck,” he mutters with a sigh.

Honestly, now I kind of feel sorry for him. I scrabble my way to the open part of the bundle, only to pull part of the scarf over my head like a hood due to the cold air nearly freezing my ears off.

“I can’t tell you what’s going on, because I don’t rightly know,” I admit with a shrug.

“How is that possible?” Hosea raises an eyebrow.

I think about this. Should I tell this giant stranger about myself? He did admit that he and his friends were outlaws. Outside, there’s wolves, bears, and a blizzard. Inside, a whole lot of giant outlaws. My question is, which is more dangerous? Well, if these guys wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already.

“Because two days ago, I was human.”

A brief look of disbelief crosses Hosea’s features.

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Your pointed ears were off putting.”

“My what?!” I exclaim.

Hosea looks confused, then smiles.

“You obviously haven’t seen yourself in a mirror, have you?”

“Uhhh, no. I woke up with my hotel bed the size of a barn and lit a shuck anywhere else. No time to preen,” I admit, hesitantly moving my working arm to one of my ears.

They’re pointed, as Hosea said, but much longer and stick out. At my surprised realization, they twitch upward.

Hosea chuckles softly and my ears flick at feeling the exhalation of his breath.

“At least you’re entertained,” I grumble.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up in Colter?”

“I stowed away in someone’s satchel. Turned out he was an O’Driscoll. Not my best decision.”

“An O’Driscoll? Do you remember which way they were heading?”

I try to recall what direction the horseman was going.

“Uh, North East, I think.”

“Ah, we’ve already run into them,” a dark look passes briefly over Hosea’s face.

“What about your arm?” any sour attitude regarding the O’Driscoll’s has gone.

“Oh, the horse bucked. I landed badly, then staggered over here for shelter.”

“How are you still unconvinced that I was human?” I ask on seeing Hosea’s dubious expression.

“It sounds too simple.”

I shrug off my makeshift hood and go to search my bag, but I don’t have it.

“Where’s my satchel?”

I’m sure I had it with me.

Hosea shifts me to one hand then rummages through his pocket and pulls out my bag. It’s positively dwarfed in his palm. I move one hand to take it from him, then reconsider. I just spill out the contents.

“If I wasn’t human, all that would be too much of a coincidence,” I gesture to the two food tins, my journal, and a small amount of coins.

Hosea raises his hand closer to his face to inspect the items.

“Awake already, old friend?” Dutch enters the room with a booming greeting.

“Just talkin’ to little Ollie here,” I feel my ears flick in irritation at the nickname Hosea just referred to me as.

“What have you found out about our latest acquisition?”

“Used to be human. Ended up in Colter by accident,” Hosea answers, passing Dutch the stuff I had poured into his hand.

He inspects the items before placing them back into the bag.

“And how is Ollie feeling?” Dutch hands me my satchel.

“I’m a tiny human with a broken arm and a thin coat in a blizzard. I’ve had better days.” I grumble.

I recoil as Hosea brings his other hand up, but he only rearranges his scarf to cover my shoulders.

“At least you’re no longer stuck outside alone,” he smiles.

With that in mind, this isn’t one of my worst days.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Hosea had left the cabin to discuss something with the other gang members, something about another missing member. I kept myself busy by reading…trying to at any rate, the book Hosea always has.

When you had no-one to teach you as a child, it’s a hard thing to teach yourself. I’m no exception. I understand enough to know it’s a crime story. It doesn’t take long for me to focus all my attention on reading.

 My ears flick as I feel a short gust of warm air from behind me and a familiar chuckle.

“Sorry, probably should have asked you first,” I mutter, grabbing the cover of the book to close it.

I’m stopped by Hosea’s massive hand over mine. I track my eyes up his arm to look up at his face. He’s kneeling next to the small table.

“I would never have taken you for a reader,” he says with a smile.

“Uhh, I can’t read…not very well anyway,” I admit.

He takes the book, marking the page with his finger and puts his other hand out in front of me.

“C’mon Ollie,” he urges.

“Why?” I ask cautiously, slowly backing away.

“Because you’ll freeze to death like that.”

I look down at myself. I hadn’t realized the scarf was no longer over me.

“Oh,” is all I can say as I shiver.

I give a squeak of fright as Hosea wraps his massive hand around me. I struggle to escape his grasp as he lifts me off the table.

“If you keep squirming, I might drop you,” he warns softly.

“I’m trying not to hurt you.”

That’s kind of true. I notice that his grip isn’t actually tight. More of a secure hold trying to avoid my splinted arm.

My stomach drops as Hosea stands up and I grab onto his finger with one arm, holding on for dear life. He takes a step to sit down in a chair in front of the fireplace. He leans back slightly as he settles into his seat. His fingers loosen and I drop the short distance, landing on the fur lapel of his jacket. I barely have time to get my bearings before his hand pins me down. I try to wriggle out from under his hand.

“Shh, just relax. You need rest with your injured arm, and you are going to freeze without intervention,” his voice rumbles through his chest.

My next sentence is interrupted as the cabin door opens. It’s not Dutch or Arthur, but an older man with glasses. Hosea quickly places his other hand over me, concealing me from the new arrival, though I can just see through the slight gap in his fingers.

“Ah, good evening Herr Matthews,” the new man greets in a thick accent.

I’m guessing German maybe. As he turns to close the door, Hosea closes both hands around me. I register upward movement then I’m dropped onto his shoulder. Specifically, between his shirt and coat collar. He wraps his scarf carefully around, then stands up. I grab his coat in fright.

“Evenin’ Herr Strauss,” Hosea’s booming voice echoes in my ears.

“I’m vondering vhen we are getting off zis mountain. I’m sure zhe others are curious about zhis also,” Herr Strauss says as he attempts to rub some warmth back into his arms and hands.

“We have to be extremely careful, Strauss. Pinkertons are still crawling all over the state.”

Pinkertons?! What did this gang of outlaws do? And what have I landed myself into?

“I know. I’m just anxious, is all,” Strauss replies.

I don’t register the pounding of hoofbeats until Strauss is already at the window.

“Zhere back. Wit John. Mein Gott, he looks awful,” he exclaims.

Hosea took the opportunity while Strauss was distracted to take me off his shoulder and put me into the small drawer of the end table, then gesturing ‘shush’, before following German outside.

That was…weird.

[un-official-artist]

Silver and Gold

Rdr2 werewolf AU

Takes place before Blackwater

Warnings: Angst, Gore

Ships: None

Parts: 1, 2, 3

The moon hung high in the sky and illuminated the forest floor of Tall Trees. Arthur sat near his camp fire, staring up at the sky and admiring the stars. It wasn’t often Arthur let his guard down, but the night was so peaceful and the sky was so beautiful, he relaxed himself and let the calmness consume him. The moonlight illuminated his ocean blue eyes, turning them silver and giving him an ethereal look.

He was distracted by the shimmering starlight and bright full moon, that he didn’t notice the large creature watching him from behind.

The creature began to crawl towards Arthur. It’s paws touched the ground silently, as if it wasn't even there. It started to quicken its crawl, turning into a fast walk, and eventually a run. Arthur’s head turned around to see the beast. It’s razor sharp teeth were bared in a slow, deep snarl. The kind of snarl that started in the back of your throat, and ended up in the throat of another.

Arthur screamed in fear at the top of his lungs and desperately attempted to run away from the creature, but it grabbed him by the leg with its fangs. Arthur yelled in agony as the creature’s teeth sunk deeper into his flesh. It felt like it was burning away his skin at the very touch. Arthur grabbed a gun from his belt and shot the thing in the head, causing it to let go and run off into the forest.

Arthur pulled his leg towards him and inspected the wound. A strange golden-like substance was left in the bite marks, as if that creature was venomous. Arthur whimpered and grabbed a bandage from his bag, then wrapped it around the wound in an attempt to keep the blood in. Tears rolled off of his cheeks and onto his lap. The pain was unbearable, like there were hot needles being buried into his leg, deeper and deeper. The blood poured out of the wound, and bled through the bandages. Arthur’s vision began to blur. “Oh god, oh god, I’m dyin’..” he cried to himself, “this is it, this is the end!” Tears streamed down his face harder. This wasn’t how he wanted to go, not bleeding out after being attacked by a savage beast. “I don’t wanna die...” He cried to himself, before falling back onto the ground and fainting.

The sun was what woke him up. It landed on his face, and got into his eyes as he opened them. He quickly sat up and looked around, panting heavily. He had been brought home to camp, where he was laying on his mattress in his wagon. Next to him say Mrs. Grimshaw, reading a book. “Mr. Morgan, you’re finally awake,” she spoke as she looked up, “you feelin’ alright?”

“I-I’m... I’m fine, yeah...” Arthur stuttered out. He felt dry tears and sweat beads roll down his cheeks. Was it all just a dream? He thought to himself. He shook his head and turned to Susan. “H-How’d I get home?”

“Mr. Smith found you. It was a week ago, actually. You were passed out by a tent with your leg bleeding,” Grimshaw explained. She set her book down and looked at him.

“A week?!” Arthur yelled one surprise, “I’ve been asleep for a goddamn week?!”

“No, you were awake sometimes at night. You didn’t move, but I’m surprised you don’t remember,” Mrs. Grimshaw laughed, “You were making a whole fuss! Talkin’, yellin’ nonsense. Swanson swears he heard you growl once! We were scared you’d gone insane!” Arthur’s eyes were wide with disbelief. Naw, I couldn’t have done that... I couldn’t have.

“How’d you even get that bite, Arthur?” Mrs. Grimshaw asked. She pointed at his injured leg. The bandages had been freshly replaced, but some blood still seeped through.

“I was attacked by... something.”

“What do you mean by something?”

“It was huge, Susan!” Arthur suddenly yelled, causing Grimshaw to jump a bit, “Bigger than a bear! It had razor sharp fangs and golden eyes and pitch black fur! I almost didn’t see it because it was so dark!”

Mrs. Grimshaw chuckled. “Bigger than a bear, huh? It might’ve been a werewolf!” She joked. Arthur felt himself relax, and he laughed with her.

“Naw, it couldn’t have been one of those. Everyone knows werewolves don’t live in the west,” he added onto her joke.

Susan laughed again. “You’re right, Arthur,” she smiled and got up, “You know, you should rest. I don’t think you’re gonna be able to move with a leg like that anytime soon.”

Arthur huffed and nodded. “You’re right...” he grumbled. He laid back down in bed, and decided to get some sleep.

He stayed in that bed for ages, being watched by various camp members. It was agony to him, being trapped like that. All he wanted was to move. To explore. To run. But, he wasn’t allowed up until they were sure he would be okay on his leg.

Then, about a month after the attack, he was finally free to leave camp. He grabbed onto his horse and began to run as fast as possible around the plains. Arthur had never felt this much energy before. It was felt as if he were stronger, faster, and more powerful than ever. He loved every second of it.

He ran from dawn to dusk, wearing poor Bodecia until she could no longer stand to go. “You did real good, girl,” Arthur reassured her, and leaned down to feed her a carrot, “We can head back to camp now. It’s gettin’ dark.” Arthur gently kicked Bocedia to jostle her towards home. He didn’t expect for her to bolt towards camp as fast as possible. Arthur laughed and held onto his hat as his mare slid into the camp, suddenly stopping at the hitching post. He climbed off of her and fed her a carrot, before walking back to his caravan to head to bed. The energy from earlier had suddenly worn off as he neared his bed, leaving Arthur tired and weak. He collapsed onto his mattress and quickly drifted off to sleep, not noticing the rising full moon behind him.

Arthur stood atop a giant hill, surrounded completely by a tranquil sea. Next to him, sat a wolf with its back faced towards him. Arthur slowly approached the creature, curious about why it was here with him. He leaned down and touched it slowly. The wolf shot around and snarled at him. It’s eyes were glowing silver, and it’s fangs were dripping with gold. Arthur backed up, trying to get away from it. The wolf grew as it approached him, changing appearance to be the size and shape of the creature he had seen that night. Arthur looked around frantically, trying to find a way off the island and away from the beast. But the hill turned into a mountain, and the ocean turned into a whirlpool beneath them, revealing giant spikes at the base of the hill. Arthur was trapped with a monster, and the only way to escape was to jump to his doom. The wolf suddenly pounced onto the man, pinning him to the hard ground and trapping him. Arthur struggled beneath its weight, and stared into its silver eyes. The creature opened it’s mouth to bite down, and...

Arthur suddenly bolted awake. His head was killing him, and the world felt fuzzy. He got up to try to walk off the pain, but the bite on his leg suddenly ignited with fiery pain. Arthur grabbed onto his wound and crumbled to the ground. He called out in agony as the fiery burning suddenly spread throughout his entire body. His head nearly bursted from the pain. “Dutch! Hosea! John! Anyone! I-I... I need help!” Arthur called out in a desperate attempt to alert someone of what was happening, “Oh god, please! Anyone! I need help!” Tears began to stream down his face. He grabbed his head and pulled it towards himself and nearly screamed in pain. It hurt more than any bullet he had ever been hit with, or ever will be hit with.

The camp awoke with Arthur’s cries for help. They ran out to find the man in a ball on the ground, crying and screaming in pain, begging for someone to help him. Dutch rushed to his side instantly. “We’re here, son, we’re here,” he reassured him, “what’s wrong? What’s wrong, Arthur?”

Arthur shook and cried, still whispering for someone to help him. It was almost as if he didn’t hear them, or couldn’t hear them.

“Maybe his wound got infected,” Hosea guessed, “Bad infections can damage the brain... He might be too far gone for us to help him, Dutch.”

Dutch frowned in sorrow. “Oh, Arthur, my boy...” He gently rested his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Suddenly, Arthur lifted his head up to meet Dutch’s face and snapped at him. Dutch gasped in fear, and quickly backed away from the man.

Arthur’s eyes had turned silver, and his teeth were sharp, like fangs. He looked wild, and dangerous. He fell back onto the floor and held his head in his arms, revealing that his nails had turned into sharp claws. His screams of pain became inhuman, and turned into howls and snarls. His bones shifted, broke, and grew, changing the size and shape of Arthur’s body. His hair turned silver, and fur started to sprout from the man’s skin, giving him a grey pelt.

“Everyone run and hide!” Dutch yelled. The gang scattered, climbing into trees and hiding in John and Dutch’s tents. They tied the door flaps shut, but left one notch open so they could see what was happening to their friend.

Arthur’s ears became pointed and moved to the top of his head, and his spine grew to resemble a tail. His teeth became the size of daggers, and they oozed a strange golden substance. It was terrifying to watch, but no one could look away. Abigail hid Jack behind her, keeping the young boy from seeing this monstrosity take place.

Arthur stopped moving. He lay on the grass floor, whimpering quietly. He was at least ten feet tall, and looked like he could kill a man with a single blow to his paw. The men, all hidden in different places, grabbed their guns and began to aim at the beast that lay in the center of camp.

Arthur slowly began to move, rising to stand on his back legs like a normal man. He fell forwards onto his front paws, then collapsed back onto the ground. The air was deathly silent, as the gang watched as Arthur began to walk, waiting for him to do something deadly. He slowly rose to his feet again, this time using his arms to help him stand. He sniffed the air, and slowly crawled towards John’s tent. Abigail began to gasp, but John covered her mouth before she could make a sound.

Arthur sniffed the curtain, trying to see who’s scent was on it. John studied him through the small crack, and saw that Arthur’s eyes were shut, almost like a newborn puppy’s.

The beast slowly moved away from John’s tent, and faced towards the exit of camp. He neared a shriveled tree that had been scorched by the desert heat, and laid underneath it to rest. Suddenly, a bullet rang throughout camp. Micah, was in the tree, and he had gotten too scared with Arthur around him.

“No, Micah, you fool!” Dutch yelled as he ran out of his tent. Arthur’s silver eyes shot open. He threw his head back to the moon and leg out a bone-chilling howl, that struck fear in the hearts of those for miles around. He looked up the tree and saw the man. Arthur snarled and bared his teeth, then leapt up the tree, grabbing the man with his claws and dragging him onto the ground. Micah screamed, and bullets flew from his first gun. Arthur took hold of his shirt collar and flung the man around like a rag doll, but never touched his skin. He slammed Micah onto the desert ground and bared his teeth. Golden ooze dripped from his fangs and onto the man’s red shirt. Suddenly, bullets began to fire from around the camp.

“Whatever you do, do not hit him! Arthur’s in there!” Dutch commanded. Arthur spun around in confusion as to where all the bullets were coming from. Why are there so many loud sounds? Where are they all coming from?! The beast though to him, Run, find shelter, run, run, run, run!

He began running towards Dutch’s tent in an attempt to hide from the storm of bullets. He dove through the tent flaps and looked around. Inside, he saw the women huddled together, all shaking from fear. They’re scared of the noises too! The wolf though, I can hide with them. We’ll protect each other.

Arthur slowly crawled to them. The woman began to panic as he approached, but he didn’t notice in time. The women suddenly scattered like a herd of started deer. They screamed and ran out of the tent, leaving Arthur all alone. He whimpered and ran out of the tent, trying to find a safe place to hide. He looked around frantically. The bullets continue to ring through the air. Arthur’s head began to spin again. He whimpered and fell to the floor, using his massive paws to cover his head. We can’t run. We have to fight. We have to live.

Arthur’s pupils turned to needle-thin slits. He suddenly got up and seemed to roar at the men, causing them to flinch in fear. He began to charge towards Dutch, teeth bared and oozing with golden venom. His silver eyes focused in on the older man, targeting him. He knew this was the pack leader. Take him out, and they’ll scatter, the wolf said. Arthur bowled over Dutch and used his paw to pin him to the ground. He leaned back, getting ready to go for the throat. He started to plunge his head forwards to take the deadly bite.

“Arthur, please!” Dutch yelled. Arthur froze. His eyes became more human, more whole. All his memories, all recollection of his human life, came flooding to the front of his mind. Arthur shook his head and looked around. He saw John, Hosea, Bill, Charles, Seàn, Javier, Lenny—His friends—with their guns focused on him. He saw Mary-Beth, Karen, Jenny, Tilly, Molly, Mrs. Grimshaw, Abigail, and Jack all cowering in fear and hiding from something. He slowly turned his head and looked at Dutch on the ground, begging for his life without even saying a word.

“Dutch, what?-“ Arthur tried to speak, but instead of words, his language came out in a bark. Arthur shook his head and looked down at his paw on Dutch’s chest, and then the one risen in the air, poised and ready to kill.

Arthur shook his head and began to back up. “Dutch I’m sorry I didn’t- I didn’t mean to- I don’t-“ Arthur whined and whimpered I’m a desperate attempt to apologize. He looked around at all the eyes focused on him. All the people whom he loved, terrified of him. Ready to shoot him at any moment. “I didn’t mean for this to happen! I didn’t! I don’t want to hurt anyone!” He cried, but all that fell on the gang’s ears were whimpers and barks.

“What are you all doing?! Shoot it!” Micah screamed as he stood up. He aimed his gun and let fly at Arthur. The bullet landed in his shoulder, causing Arthur to yelp in surprise, but not pain. He stumbled back and shook his head. He could feel control slipping away from him. He struggled to hold on, then looked to the west to the setting moon. “Please, just a little longer, please... please...” he begged himself. Tears began to stream from his face. Micah shot more, hitting him in the neck, back, leg, and arm. He yelled and cried out in pain. It wasn’t the pain of a physical injury, but the agony of slowly loosing himself. He was loosing this battle and the only thing he could do was fight. He was struggling to fight. Struggling to stay himself. Struggling to survive. Struggling. Struggling.

Suddenly, beams of the sun started to rise over the eastern horizon. Arthur laughed in sweet relief, feeling the battle fade away, and relaxing. But that relief was stopped by the intense feeling of burning spreading all over his body. The bullet wounds burned, the bite mark burned, everything burned. His bones began to relocate themselves, and his fur vanished back into his skin. Arthur’s vision began to blacken, and he fainted onto the ground.