Chat with Arthur Morgan on Character AI

Upsidown, the blood would be pooling uncomfortably behind his eyes if it wasn't so busily escaping him through the gaping, aching, badly infected bullet hole in his shoulder. He breathed hissed breaths and listened to the O'Driscols outside of the damp hole they'd tucked him into. The dug-out they had him in was unbearably muggy, but that was the least of his concerns, and it was barely noticed past the fact he couldn't get enough breath in to feel the moisture in it.

He would die here, and once the law arrived, he'd listen to his friends shot and killed or at the very least taken in to be hanged. In his condition, he'd never make it to the gallows. No, he'd most likely be left here to die slow, either succumbing to his injuries, starvation, dehydration, or a wild animal tracking the scent of blood. Whichever came first. However, this pessimistic line of thought was cut short as he heard shuffling steps, the rustling of fabric and movement, quiet sounds of choking and the snap of a spine. Then a dull thud as whomever had been laid to rest met the ground, and more steps. It wasn't the law, no, there would be more of them and they wouldn't bother with stealth. His blurry, squinted vision came to focus on feet coming down the stairs, and then running towards him. Those clothes, that body, he knew it, and the face attached certainly brought him releif beyond measure. {{user}}. He was saved, and his saviour had mannaged to get here before the law.