An Outlaws Redemptionby extremeenigma02ChaptersThe Last StandThe ShamanTimberwolves AttackThe Last StandSometimes, life chooses favorites. But more often, the good people, who do what they must to get by, aren’t so lucky. Arthur Morgan was one of those people. His entire life has been one giant disaster, for twenty years since the day he joined Dutch Van der Linde. Nothing but running from the law and knocking off banks. According to Dutch, it was all in pursuit of a better life for the gang. How blind they were to believe it could ever be true? For months, someone within their gang ratted them out to the Pinkerton Detective Agency. It was only after their final train robbery and saving Abigail Roberts did Arthur realize the mole was none other than Micah Bell. He’d always known Micah was a loose cannon, and yet he never would’ve figured he’d be the one to betray them. To make matters worse: Arthur had been diagnosed with Tuberculosis some time back. The disease slowly but surely affected his lungs, shutting them down. He knew he was a dead man walking that moment forward, but he pressed on as best as he could. Here he was now, surely the last leg of his life. Shortly after escaping Van Horn and the Pinkertons, Arthur, along with Abigail and Sadie Adler found a spot to stop so Arthur could rest. He was wheezing like crazy, coughing up more blood since discovering his tuberculosis. “Arthur, there’s no time,” Sadie insisted. “There’s time,” Arthur disagreed breathlessly. He stretched out his arms toward Abigail, who sat along the rump of Sadie’s horse. “What happened to John?” Abigail asked. “Where’s John?” “I-I don’t,” Arthur began. “I think…” Arthur held out his arms again, helping Abigail down. Sadie also dismounted, holding onto Abigail. “Arthur…” “He…” Arthur began with a shaky voice. “What?” “He got killed or he got captured.” “No…” Abigail lowered her head. Sadie kept hold of Abigail, as she almost lost her balance. Over the knowledge that her husband, John Marston, could very well be dead. “I’m really sorry, Abigail. I’m…” “No!” Abigail cried out. “I was on the train and didn’t see it.” “No-o-o-o-o…” Abigail sobbed. Arthur closed in on her, slowly turning her head so her teary eyes could meet his. “Listen, we got Jack,” Arthur assured. “Mrs. Adler will take you to him, but… John… I want you to know this… he loved you. He loved you and Jack, he did. He wasn’t perfect, but he did. Now… you gotta go get that boy. Go on, get outta here.” Sadie started to climb back onto her hose. “Arthur, what are you doin’?” “I gotta go have a little chat before I get much sicker.” “Oh, Arthur…” Abigail cried. “Don’t you ‘Oh, Arthur’ me… neither of you two, not now. You both know.” Arthur put Abigail on the back of Sadie’s horse. “You’re good women… good people. The best. You go get that boy… there’ll be time for sorrow later.” “I-If you’re headed back there, Arthur,” Abigail reached into her shirt. “Take this. I don’t… need it anymore.” Abigail shows Arthur what appears to be a key. “What’s that?” “There’s a chest in them caves. In the back to the left. Hidden under a wagon. Dutch’s chest. With all out money. I know John told you I knew where it was.” She gave the key to Arthur, who looked at it in disbelief. Arthur released a breath of surprise, as he turned back toward Abigail. “Abigail Roberts.” Abigail took Arthur’s hand, as tears flowed down her face, knowing this might be the last time she ever saw him. “I always was a good thief,” She cried. “That you was. Go on, get outta here.” Arthur turned away from them and got on the back of his white Arabian horse, Serena, as the women left. Looking out through the trees, Arthur reached into his bag and pulled out his signature hat which he placed upon his head. “Come on girl. Time for one last ride” He gave a kick and Serena galloped off leading them back to the gang’s camp at Beaver Hollow. All the while, Arthur’s thoughts were flooded with words of praise from those he helped over the last few months. “You’re a good man. If only you’d done it before he worked hisself into the grave.” “I’m really sorry for you son. It’s a hell of a thing.” “You saved my life. You’re a good man.” “Thank you feller. You know there ain’t enough kindness in the world that’s for sure.” https://m. The sun began to set over the horizon overlooking Beaver Hollow, as what remained of the Van der Linde gang proceeded to pack away the camp. The only ones left in the group were Javier Esquella, Bill Williamson, Susan Grimshaw, and a few of Micah’s hired hands. Overseeing the process was none other than the unpredictable, Micah Bell. The unhinged cowboy grew increasingly impatient with each passing moment that the camp was not moved. “Get them backs packed up quick, Miss Grimshaw!” Micah demanded. “Come on! All of you!” “Well, we’re doin’ our best!” Susan Grimshaw snapped. “Hurry, we ain’t got long… hurry!” “We just got plenty of time, Micah.” It was at the moment Arthur rode up on Serena, quickly climbing off his prized mare and hitched her up before walking quickly towards Micah. The man in question looked over his shoulder seeing Arthur making his way toward him. “We all need to have a little chat.” “Black Lung, you’re back!” Micah said, outstretching his arms with a bow. “That’s great! Hurray.” Arthur looked back towards the tent near the mouth of the cave seeing none other than Dutch walk out. He sneered at the sharply dressed gang leader who left Abigail for the Pinkertons. “I just saw Agent Milton, Dutch. Abigail shot him. She’s okay… not that you care too much about that. You rats… all of you!” Arthur turned directly toward Micah. “Seems Micah was pretty close with Milton,” Arthur accused. “What the hell are you talking about, cowpoke?” Micah asked. Arthur just stared daggers at the treasonous snake that sold him and the rest of the gang down the river. “You talked!” Arthur confessed. Though his demeanor nor his facial expressions admit it, Micah knew he had been found out. However, he still knew he had Dutch in his pocket, and he was going to continue trying to talk his way out. “That’s a goddamn lie!” Micah yelled, turning to Dutch. “Dutch, think of the future!” Dutch turned over toward Arthur. “Milton told me,” Arthur added. “And you believe him, Black Lung?” Micah chuckled. “It all makes sense now,” Arthur shook his head. “No… it damn well doesn’t!” Micah scowled. Arthur quickly reached into his holster, pulling out his revolver. Micah did the same, as Bill and Javier pulled out their rifles. All the men were willing to kill one another here and now, as Dutch kept looking back and forth trying to figure out who to believe. “Dutch, think!” Arthur snapped. “Dutch, be practical now,” Micah warned. Dutch continued to look between Arthur, who had been with him for twenty years, and Micah, who had helped him garner such a variety of wealth in such a short time. Just as it appeared he was about to make his decision, a new voice cut through the air and shocked them all. “Dutch!” Everyone turned toward the side, seeing John Marston stumble out of the foliage. He clutched his bleeding shoulder where he had been shot in the train robbery. It was shocking seeing as how Dutch said he was either dead or captured by the police. “John?” Bill said. “You left me…” John growled. “You left me to die!” “My boy…” Dutch spoke, walking from his tent. “I didn’t have a choice. John, I didn’t…” “You!” “I didn’t have a choice.” “Left me!” “It wasn’t like that!” Dutch snarled. “All of you… you pick your side now, because this is over,” Arthur said calmly. “All them years, Dutch… for this snake?!” “Oh, be quiet, cowpoke!” Micah said. “Be quiet. You live in the clouds.” “No,” Susan said, approaching with a shot gun. “You be quiet, Mr. Bell, and put down your gun.” Then, Javier came running back to the group rapidly in great concern. “There’s Pinkertons coming this way!” He said urgently. During the distraction, Micah shot Susan right in the gut and she fell to the ground, groaning and moaning in pain. Dutch pulled out his guns, aiming at Arthur and Micah. “Now! Who amongst you is with me…” He demanded, as his aim remained. “And ‘who’ is betrayin’ me?” John joined Arthur’s side, but everyone else moved to Dutch’s. “Bill, Javier, think… think for yourselves!” Arthur urged, starting to cough. “He’s lyin!” Micah said. “Hee’sss lyyyiinnnggg!” “Put your guns down!” Suddenly, the Pinkertons swarmed their location in large numbers. Many of them with big guns. Shooting started, as everyone ducked for cover. “God dammit!” Dutch shouted. “Move!” Arthur took cover behind a large box to avoid the bullets blazing past him, while John hid behind a stack of crates. “You ready, John?” Arthur asked. “Yeah!” John replied. “Everyone get down!” Dutch shouted. “This is Agent Ross with the Pinkerton Detective Agency! Put your guns down!” The firing of guns echoed through the air, as Arthur and John kept shooting and the Pinkertons kept gaining ground. “The others have run for it!” John shouted. “It’s just us anyways, John!” Arthur pointed out. “Where’s Van der Linde?” Ross shouted to his men. “Get after them and find him!” “Come on!” John yelled. “Into the caves!” Arthur fires off a few more shots, killing a few more Pinkertons before following John deep into the mouth of the mountain. The two men proceed to climb the rocks and ledges of the cave, trying to reach the ladder leading to the outside. “Those bastards left me for dead!” John snarled. “Seems that’s what they do now!” Arthur barked. “Micah was the rat, John! Milton told me!” “We should’ve killed him months ago!” John said. John and Arthur climbed up the ladder, just as the sky turned black and the stars shined brightly on the night sky. It would have been beautiful, if not for the fact they were hunted down. Once up, Arthur bent over and wheezed out a few coughs. They ran down the hill and whistled for their mounts. “Abigail… Abigail’s safe,” Arthur breathed out. “So’s Jack.” “Where are they?” John asked. “They’re with Sadie… at Copperhead Landing.” John took Arthur’s hand. “Thank you… brother.” John went to go, but Arthur kept his grip on him. “I want you… to not look back… like I said.” Serena and Rachel came up and they mounted up. Suddenly, the remaining Van der Linde gang rode up on them and started shooting. Arthur and John rushed quickly down the trail when more Pinkertons showed up, but they dealt with them rather quickly. Yet they kept coming, more of them blocked the road ahead so they had to turn around. Arthur kept shooting and riding, and riding and shooting. It was in that moment Arthur went flying off Serena, who’d been shot out of nowhere and they both fell to the ground. Arthur fell on his ass, got up, and started shooting every Pinkerton in sight. Apparently Rachel had been shot, leaving him and John with no mounts. Arthur went to Serena’s side, gently stroking her mane as what remained of her life slipped away. “Thank you,” Arthur thanked her. Arthur grabbed his bow, his arrows, his shotgun, and his repeater from his dead horse’s saddle. “Arthur, let’s go!” John yelled. Arthur turned back towards the burnt remains of the old camp, and he couldn’t stop thinking of the chest full of money Abigail told him about. He grabbed the key in his hand, turning back toward John. “Well, what about the money?” He asked. “Abigail gave me the key.” “I head down there and I’m dead in five minutes,” John shook his head. “I’ve got a family man, that’s more important.” “Ah, maybe you’re right, but…” John walked right up to Arthur and got in his face. It was the most intense Arthur has seen of John. “You want the money?” John asked heatedly. “You head back down there. I gotta go to my family.” Arthur looked between John and the burning remains of the camp. Sure, the money was ripe for the taking. But he also knew Abigail and little Jack were worth more than all that gold. Not to mention John was finally acting like a man for his family. There was no question what he wanted to do. Arthur put his hat back on his head, nodding at John. “I’m coming with you.” Arthur patted John on the shoulder, as he walked past him and started up the mountain with John following behind. “I’m gonna get you out of this bullshit if it’s the last goddamn thing I do,” Arthur declared determinedly. As they proceed up the mountain, more and more Pinkertons showed up and shot at them. Thankfully, both men ducked the barrage of bullets zipping by them and both hid behind a couple rocks. Arthur grabbed his shotgun, blasting a few Pinkertons with such force it knocked them right off the mountain. Once a majority of them were dead, they continued up the mountain until Arthur had to stop and cough, spitting up blood. He’d been greatly exceeding his limits throughout the entirety of this mission, and his health was only getting worse. “Alright Arthur!” John called. “Come on, let’s go!” Arthur looked up at John, then back at the rapidly approaching Pinkertons. They were quickly gaining ground; at this point, Arthur knew he was just dead weight. If he continued on with John, they’d both get captured and likely killed. He was already a dead man anyways, so he figured he could at least give John a chance. “You go!” He waved John along. John turned back towards Arthur, quickly making for his side as Arthur continued to cough. “Keep pushing Arthur!” John encouraged. Arthur let out another series of coughs before shaking his head. “No…” Arthur coughed more blood. “No… I think I’ve pushed all I can.” “We ain’t got time for this, not now!” John said. “Come on, we gotta go!” Arthur just sighed, removing his hat from his head. He shook as he turned towards John. “We ain’t both gonna make it,” He admitted. “Go… now. I’ll hold them off.” Arthur took his hat, placing it directly on John’s head. He gave the boy a pat on the shoulder, giving him a small smile. “It would mean a lot to me… please.” Arthur handed John the satchel, with all his money so he might use it to help provide a good life for him, Abigail, and Jack. “Go!” Arthur instructed. Arthur began to continue up the mountain before being stopped by John. “Arthur…” “Go to your family!” Arthur instructed again. “Arthur!” John yelled. “Get the hell outta here!” Arthur said loudly. “And be a God damn man!” John just stared at Arthur for what felt like forever before finally nodding and walked down the mountain. He turned back toward Arthur one last time. “You’re my brother,” He said. “I know!” Arthur responded. “I know…” Arthur continued up the mountain, shooting at the Pinkertons. “God damn, you bastards!” https://m. He knelt down behind another rock, using his repeater to finish the job. Using his dead eye vision, Arthur hit a series of head shots on a number of Pinkertons before being tackled from behind. He was viciously yanked onto his back, seeing Micah kneel over him with his fist raised. “I got ya now, Black Lung!” Micah yelled. “You rat…” Arthur snarled at him. “You rat!” “I’m a…” Micah’s fist contacted Arthur’s jaw, hard enough that it could have easily broken it. “survivor, Black Lung…” Another punch contacted Arthur’s jaw. “That’s all there is… livin’ and dyin’!” Arthur used whatever momentum he had, whatever strength he had left, to throw Micah off of him and they both tumbled over the edge, falling to the hard ground below. Both men groaned as they slowly got back to their feet, preparing to throw punches at one another. Micah grabbed Arthur by the collar of his brown leather coat, delivering a swift blow to the gut. As he was about to deliver another, Arthur blocked it and delivered a straight shot to the side of Micah’s face causing him to stagger back. “Oh Black Lung,” Micah said evilly. “You don’t know how long I’ve longed to do this!” The two men traded blows for an eternity, as they knocked each other down, choked one another, and slammed each other into the stone wall of the mountain. Finally, Micah had Arthur pinned to the ground and delivered punches to his face. That is until Arthur finally landed a strong strike toward Micah, knocking the man off him and toward the ground. Arthur noticed Micah’s discarded revolver off to the side and crawled as quickly as he could to get it. “All there is… winning… and losing…” Micah taunted. Just as Arthur grabbed the revolver, Micah snatched him off the ground and slammed him into the mountain wall. This gave Arthur a moment to backhand Micah with the revolver knocking both men to the ground. The revolver flew out of Arthur’s hand, landing a few feet away. Arthur wheezed and gasped, badly beaten and bloody, as he crawled towards the gun. “Oh Black Lung,” Micah taunted as he got up. “You ain’t gonna reach that gun. You ain’t. You lost, my sick friend. You lost.” Arthur still crawled anyway, wheezing his way up. “In the end, Micah,” Arthur wheezed out. “Despite my best efforts to the contrary, it turns out I’ve won. God damn ya!” He grabbed for the gun, only for Dutch to put his foot on Arthur’s hand, which made Arthur cry out. “It is over now, Arthur,” Dutch declared. “It’s over.” “Ooh, Dutch…” Arthur said breathlessly. “He’s a rat. You know it, and I know it.” “He’s sick!” Micah insisted. “He’s dyin’… he’s talkin’ crazy.” Arthur looked up toward Dutch, shaking and struggling to breathe. “I gave you all I had… I did.” Dutch looked at Arthur, blinking a few times tying to process the entire situation in his head. Here at his feet laid the man who’d given him everything for the last twenty years. But now he was gasping for breath, and in his dying words claiming Micah was the traitor all along. What was Dutch to believe? “Come on!” Micah called out toward Dutch. “Dutch… let’s go buddy. We made it. We won.” Arthur looked up at Dutch, laying on his back. “John made it. He’s the only one. But the rest of us… no. But… I tried. In the end… I did.” Arthur gasped, fighting to breathe. The sound of the Pinkertons drew closer, garnering Micah’s attention and he knew he had to move this along. “Come on… let’s go. We can make it!” Dutch looked between Micah and the fallen Arthur. He didn’t truly know who or what to believe, but one thing he did know was that he needed to get the hell out before he got killed or arrested. With this in mind, Dutch Van der Linde slowly backed toward the mountain before turning and walking away from the scene. “Come on, Dutch…” Micah called. “Come on!” Seeing Dutch wasn’t coming with him, Micah snarled and walked his own way off the mountain. They left Arthur wheezing and gasping for air, as he slowly crawled away. He crawled a few feet away until he came to a slanted portion of the mountain wall and leaned against it. He groaned a gasp for breath, as he slowly turned his head toward the sun slowly rising over the horizon. Sure, he may not have always been the best man in the world, but Arthur Morgan knew for sure he was a good man. Seeing the last sun rise over the horizon was most certainly the least God could offer him. Arthur took a few more breathes, before he exhaled slowly and that was the end of it, as his eyes closed on this world… forever. The ShamanArthur’s Journal: Equestria Entry #1 From the moment my last breath escaped me along the mountaintop, my new life began. Had anyone told me exactly the kind of things I’d see, the enemies I’d make, and the friends who’d stick by, I’d have put them out of their insanity with two in the head. But then again, maybe I should be thanking them. For little did I know, dying on that mountain top may have been the damn near best thing that’s ever happened to me. And it all began with the Shaman… <> Drifting between the seemingly endless void, between life and death, nothing before looked quite so beautiful. A grassy meadow bathed in golden light, as a gentle breeze drifted through the air, made the atmosphere ever so peaceful. The only inhabitants of said meadow was a lone white tailed buck leaned down to partake in the beautiful glade and a certain decease gunslinger. Arthur didn’t want to believe this is what he was actually seeing. He didn’t truly believe he deserved to see something so beautiful. No matter what manner of good deeds he’s done, or the countless lives he saved, he never truly believed himself to be a good man. All he considered himself to be was a gunslinger, a robber, a heartless bastard who deserved nothing but pain. Sensing another presence, the buck lifted its head from the grass and stared directly in the eyes of Arthur Morgan. The man had seen this very same buck before in his dreams, right after discovering his Tuberculosis. Strangely enough, the buck didn’t seem to fear him as most others would. Instead, it simply looked at him as though he were a friend or companion. “Your life has not yet ended Arthur Morgan; in fact, it’s merely just begun.” Amazed and confused, Arthur stared upon the buck that seemed to have spoken to him. But he didn’t have time to question the creature, as the buck turned its head and slowly walked off over the glen towards the blinding light. Arthur decided to follow the buck, seeing as he had nowhere else to go. Before too long, he too was consumed by the blinding golden radiance. <> Arthur’s eyes shot open, as he gasped greatly for air. He laid out upon the cold hard ground, staring straight into the air. Taking deep shallow breaths, Arthur slowly sat up on the palms of his hands and looked around toward his surroundings. Nothing but dark trees surrounded him, and he heard nothing but the faint chirping of birds. This made no sense to him, seeing as how he died on the mountaintop overlooking the rising sun. He shook his head at the memory of drawing his final breath on that mountain and figured this must be hell. “Damn!” He cursed under his breath. “Ah knew it was only a matter of time ‘fore I ended up here.” Slowly lifting himself back onto his legs, Arthur scoped the landscape he now resided in. If this truly was hell, it certainly didn’t look the way he had grown up hearing about. No fires with dancing demons nor even the damn devil laughing at his eternal pain and misery. A sudden, violent coughing fit made Arthur forget these thoughts and instead focus on finding his way out of the forest. “Seems ah can’t escape this God damn disease,” Arthur groaned. “Not even in death.” He found his weapon bag, with all his supplies just a few inches away. Holstering them to his side, slinging them over his shoulders, he proceeds to walk through the thick foliage. Having spent most of his life camping in the wilderness, it wasn’t hard for Arthur to navigate his way through the forest. The problem was all the coughing and the blood he was spitting out. Whether he was truly dead or not, he needed to find some manner of medical help. Stumbling his way through the trees, Arthur eventually came to a stop and rested upon a large oak tree, to catch both his balance and his breath. For he knew the longer he kept this up, the more difficult it would become to function properly. Leaning against the tree, Arthur soon noticed another tree not far from him except this looked as if it had been fashioned into a house of sorts. He didn’t know what to make of this or even why someone would want to live in a tree. But at the moment, it didn’t really matter. Pushing off the tree, Arthur trudged up toward the door of the house and knocked loudly. “Hey!” He yelled. “Anyone in there!” No response came, so he knocked more violently. “Ah ain’t gonna hurt nobody! Ah just need help.” Once again, no response came, and Arthur could feel another violent coughing fit quickly approach. He hunched over, coughing more blood before eventually toppling over and gasping for air once more. As he vision began to fade, he thought he could see the outline of a strange quadruped creature wearing a cloak slowly approach him. Soon his vision left him entirely, as he slipped into unconscious. <> Next thing Arthur Morgan could comprehend, his eyes slowly opened, and his vision was blurry as hell. He couldn’t make out any shape or form of anything around him, but one thing he knew was that he was no longer outside. He wasn’t even laying on the ground anymore; instead, he laid along a comfortable bed that was soft yet sturdy at the same time. It certainly paled in comparison to any hotel bed or bedroll he’d ever slept on from Strawberry to Annesburg. He groaned as he slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes trying to get his vision back so he could see exactly where he was. When his vision finally came back, he searched around the area. He appeared to be in a room of sorts, where many strange things hung from the ceiling. So many bizarre masks resided along the walls, resembling from those of some African tribe he’d heard tales about in Saint Dennis. The thing that caught his attention most was the giant cauldron sitting over a blazing fire sitting in the middle of the room. “Arthur, where the hell did you end up now?” He thought to himself. “To move about so suddenly would not be best. It would be better for you to lay back and rest.” Arthur’s head snapped to the side of the room toward the strange voice. Some strange figure of sorts stood in the corner completely shrouded in darkness. Arthur instinctively reached for his weapons, only to find out that they were no longer holstered to his side. He turned back toward the figure; a confused look plastered on his face. “Where the hell am I?” Arthur asked. “In my humble abode do you now reside,” The figure responded. “After I found you unconscious outside.” Arthur narrowed his eyes toward the figure, trying to see if he could make out what they look like. “Why don’t you come on out here?” He gestured. “I got a much better time talking to folks when I can see their faces.” The figure in question slowly started walking towards the light of the fire, as its form soon began to show. The figure turned out to be a zebra of sorts, with a mohawk-style mane and stripes in various parts of its body. It also had an assortment of golden rings around its neck and foreleg, as well as two golden earrings dangling from its ears. The zebra bowed its head to Arthur with a smile along its muzzle. One look and Arthur fell back onto the bed with a groan, covering his face with his hand. “God dammit!” He cursed. “First Tuberculosis takes away whatever sort of life ah got lef; now ah’ve gone crazy!” The zebra giggled before slowly making her way over to the side of the bed. “Insane you are not stranger, for it is quite true,” She assured. “I am indeed the one that is speaking to you.” Arthur slowly removed his hands from his face, before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He scratched the heavy stubble on his face as he shook his head in disbelief. “All ah’m missin’ now is Alice and the white rabbit,” He spoke begrudgingly, to himself. “Ah’ll be mad as a hatter then.” “Why is it so hard to believe when you can plainly see?” The zebra asked. “Is it indeed true you are talking to me?” “Cuz where ah’m from, horses don’t go talkin’ back to yah.” Arthur then let out a chuckle, as he shook his head again. “Now ah’m actually talkin’ to the damn zebra! If only John and Uncle could see me now.” The zebra merely shrugged to herself before approaching the large cauldron, using her hoof to lift a large spoon and stir the contents. “You know stranger, I’ve traveled Equestria through and through. But I have never seen an odd creature quite like you.” Arthur couldn’t help but laugh weakly toward himself, that the talking zebra is the one who just called him odd. “Well, ah can say the same thing about talking zebras,” Arthur shot back. “You know calling you stranger is becoming a tiresome game. How about if I tell you mine, then you tell me your name?” Arthur thought for a moment, as he stroked his heavily dribbled chin. Should he tell this zebra his name? It could very well mean signing his own death warrant if the police found out. Then he remembered he was sitting in a house-tree and talking to a zebra. Either he was hallucinating, or he was truly in hell. No matter what he did, it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. “Names Arthur Morgan, ma’am,” Arthur greeted. He stuck out his hand toward the zebra, who only stared at the strange appendage curiously. Never before had she seen anything quite like it before and she was completely unaware of what to do. “Ain’t you never heard of a handshake before?” Arthur asked. The zebra stared upon the man’s outstretched hand before slowly lifting one of her hooves off the floor and gently placed it into his hand. Arthur shook lightly, as the zebra actually smiled over the tiny gesture. “Now that ah told you my name, it’s only fair ah get yours in return,” Arthur spoke up. The zebra nodded, pulling her hoof back and stood upon all fours again. “A pleasure to meet you Arthur Morgan, that much I can say. You may call me Zecora, who saved your life on this day.” “What do you mean ‘saved my life’?” Arthur asked. “When you fell outside my home, you were pale and gravely sick,” Zecora responded. “I brought you inside and crafted a potion that did the trick.” Arthur just held his hand over his forehead, shaking his head. He heard so much rhyming out of this zebra today and it was quickly getting on his nerves. “Is there a way you can tell me what the hell happened without having to rhyme?” Arthur asked seriously. Zebra giggled, as she returned toward the cauldron. She grabbed a small ladle in her teeth and scooped some of its contents into a small vial. “From your gasping for breath and your pale appearance, this I was able to deduce. That you had a terrible sickness I needed to reduce.” Again Arthur groaned, the constant rhyming this silly zebra constantly had to do each time she spoke drove him crazy. “Well, you wasted your time lady,” He sighed. “Ain’t no doctor been able to find a cure for Tuberculosis.” “Finding a cure was not hard to offer you relief, feast your eyes upon this and quench your belief.” Zecora walked forward with the vial between her teeth. She released it onto Arthur’s open hand and the cowboy just looked at it. “Just what exactly is this?” He asked. “Simply drink this liquid and your ailment will cease,” Zecora answered. “This will finally offer you much needed sickness release.” Arthur gazed at the vial in his hand, his mind raced with many different thoughts. Should he drink it or should he not? Could he truly trust this zebra he just met? Why would she want to help him of all people? Feeling a violent surge of coughing coming on, his decision quickly became easier. Arthur uncorked the vial and drank the entire contents in one swig. The moment the liquid began to flow down his throat, he could immediately feel a change. The color began to return to his body, his violent coughing ceased altogether, and he could finally breathe easily again. He hadn’t felt this good since the first time he and the rest of the crew settled at Horseshoe Overlook near Valentine. Turning toward Zecora, Arthur had a dumbfounded look on his face. “How?” He asked in disbelief. “How were you able to do what no doctor in the world could do?” “My medicines are strange Mr. Morgan, but they bring forth good will,” Zecora smiled. “This potion has driven the ailment from your being, so you’ll never again grow ill.” Arthur slowly approached Zecora, falling to his knees before the zebra. Without thinking about his actions, he wrapped his arms around the zebra with a hug. “Thank you, Zecora,” He said thankfully. Zecora patted his back with her hoof, as he pulled away. “Now if you don’t mind me asking, just what did you do with all my stuff?” “You needn’t worry dear Arthur, your effects I shall return to you,” Zecora assured. “I kept them safe in my room until you came to.” Zecora trotted off to another room, before returning with Arthur’s bag and weapons draped over her back. Arthur grabbed his rifle and bow, slinging them over his shoulder. Then he holstered his pistol and revolver to his sides. He grabbed his bag and looked down at Zecora. “Before ah go, ah just wanna thank you for what you’ve done fer me. Ain’t a whole lot of folk who would do what you did for a man like me.” “You need not thank me Arthur, it is the least I could do,” Zecora assured. “I would gladly do it again for a good soul like you.” Arthur turned toward the door of Zecora’s hut but stopped just before opening it. He turns back toward Zecora one last time. “Ah ain’t no good man, Zecora. I’ve done terrible things in my life. But I thank you still for saving my useless life.” With that said, Arthur pulled the door open and closed it behind him as he left. Zecora stood there looking after the strange man in confusion. How could he not think himself as good?” <> Fully revamped and better than ever, Arthur Morgan strolled through the dark forest in search for a place to stay. True, he could have stayed with Zecore for the time being. But he didn’t wish to burden her nor put her at risk for harboring a dangerous outlaw like him. He’s only known the strange zebra for a short time, but she had been more kind to him than most people have ever been. After an hour of walking, Arthur finally felt the fatigue of walking for so long. How he wished he still had Serena with him. Thinking of his fallen mare made the gunslinger close his eyes, remember his beloved horse. She had been with him through thick and thin; she helped him escape the law, catch bounties, and even rob trains. Now that his horse was gone, it felt like a big part of his soul was missing. Finally, he came upon something that brought him a sense of relief. Nestled in a small clearing, in the endless amount of dark trees, was a small log cabin. If it weren’t in use, surely it would provide him some decent shelter. Crouching so as not to be seen, Arthur slowly crept towards the cabin. He peeked through the tiny window to see if anyone currently occupied the small dwelling. But the complete lack of light made it difficult to see inside. Arthur knew he’d have to go inside to make completely sure it was empty. Pulling out his revolver, Arthur crept toward the door and slowly opened it. Entering the cabin, he checked every square inch of the property before confirming it was indeed empty. “Looks like I’ve found myself a place to stay,” Arthur said to himself. There was a fireplace connected to a stone chimney and thankfully there was firewood at the ready. Reaching into his bag, Arthur pulled out a box of matches and lit one before throwing it into the fireplace. Pulling out a few old bounty posters he collected, he proceeds to rip them for kindling. Before too long, there was a roaring flame to keep him warm. Arthur sat alongside the fire, pulling out the bedroll he thankfully was able to grab off Serena before he and John ran from the Pinkertons. He laid the bedroll out alongside the fire, lying down to get himself comfortable. Just as the fatigue proved too much to handle and sleep began to overtake him, one thing crossed Arthur’s mind. “Regardless if this hell or a hallucination, this is my reality now.” Timberwolves AttackArthur’s Journal: Equestria Entry #2 I still ain’t entirely sure whether I’m in hell or this is all some insane dream in my twisted head. Regardless, it weren’t until I arrived here that I was finally able to be rid of this disease and I hope it don’t come back. That Zecora character I met was definitely something I never expected to see in my entire life. I still find myself questioning my own sanity. No matter what I think about her, I really have her to thank. Might have died all over again if it weren’t for her, I can surely say I ain’t planning on that happening again. After I left Zecora’s hut, I was able to find refuse in an abandoned cabin in the forest where I now currently reside. Ain’t too sure whether or not I should find civilization to replenish my supplies. If the natives here are anything like Zecora, I don’t know if I wanna meet them. Guess I’m alright out here for now; if I have to, I can hunt for my food. Don’t know exactly what type of animals are in this here forest, but I’m itching to find out. Arthur’s eyes slowly open, he groans as he sat up on his bedroll. It never felt good for his back sleeping on the ground whenever he had to make camp on long journeys. At least on those journeys, the ground he slept on was occasionally soft. In this cabin, there’s only the hard wooden surface most unforgiving. Arthur sat up from the ground, noting the smoldering ashes of the fire that had been burning the night before. There wasn’t any other firewood in the cabin, so he figured he’d have to find some more later. The rumbling in his gut made him forget the moment because it’s apparent he needs food. He grabs his satchel he laid upon the side and pulled out some canned peaches. Downing the entire contents in a single gulp, he chucks the now empty can aside. Digging into the satchel, he noticed he still had a decent amount of provisions. But he knew he’d have to ration it well. “If I’m going to eat, I’m due for some hunting,” He commented. Stepping back on his feel, he slings his satchel over his shoulder. He picks up his double-barrel shotgun, his bow and arrows, and the revolvers from the table and straps each of his gear onto himself, fully prepared for what’s out there. Emerging from the cabin, Arthur takes a good look around the area to determine the best direction to start. Since he didn’t have a compass, it was a guessing game at this point. “I suppose I’ll head this way,” He pointed, assuming the direction is North. Arthur trudged through the dense foliage of trees, seeking a good spot to hunt. All the while, he uses his dead eye vision to scout for any signs of animals. After a period of walking, he noticed a patch of berry bushes and his dead eye showed him signs of a trail. Kneeling to a crouch, Arthur snuck up to the bushes and noticed a trail of tiny paw prints heading towards a clearing in the trees. He bends further for a good look at the tracks. “Rabbit,” He observed. He remembered hunting a few rabbits back when he and Hosea first hunted that thousand-pound bear when they settled at Horseshoe Overlook. They actually taste good when cooked over a hot fire. Thinking about Hosea made Arthur stop for a moment, removing his hat in remembrance. The old man was like a second father him, right after Dutch, and he hated seeing him shot down by that Pinkerton bastard Milton during the Saint Dennis heist. Pushing the old thoughts back into his head, Arthur grabbed the bow off his back and continued his hunt for rabbits. He follows the trail for a good few meters before coming upon a set of tracks. “Must be an entire family,” Arthur marveled. He continues on, following the tracks until eventually coming upon a tiny clearing in the trees where the sun shines through the dark foliage. Grabbing some herbivore bait from his satchel, Arthur places the bait in the midst of the clearing before moving back quickly and hides in the bushes. Grabbing his bow, readying an arrow, he waits for a while until eventually two little white rabbits hop towards the bait. Arthur pulls the arrow back, ready to fire. Just as he was about to let the arrow loose, a voice cuts through the silence of the forest. “Please come back little ones!” Arthur turns toward the source of the voice and sure enough, just when this couldn’t get any more strange, it happened. Out from the trees there appears to be a miniature horse, with a butter-yellow coat and long pink mane. What surprised the notorious gunslinger most, as if those other qualities weren’t surprising enough, a set of wings protrude from its back. The creature resembles a Pegasus from what Arthur could remember from ancient Greek texts he heard of. “Just when I thought this couldn’t get more insane,” Arthur muttered to himself. The Pegasus floats toward the two rabbits, scooping them up in her arms. “Don’t worry little ones, you’re safe now,” She said soothingly. “Let’s all head back home before something bad happens.” Quick as a whip, the Pegasus shot off into the forest, taking the two rabbits with her. This left Arthur crouching in the bushes, confused. Within the expanse of a single day, he already met a talking zebra and now he had seen a mythical talking Pegasus. Perhaps he really is dead, that this is all part of some form of weird, confusing hell. Regardless, he just lost his meal and now he had to search for another means to eat. Arthur walks back in the direction he’d originally came from, continuing for another half an hour. He searched for more signs of animals in the area, but so far had no luck. It really shouldn’t be this difficult to find animals in a forest like this. “AHHHHHHHH!!!” A loud scream pierced the air, grabbing Arthur’s attention. It sounded like a child’s scream coming from his right. Normally Arthur was one to help in a situation like this, but he was clearly no longer in his own world anymore. “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” He brushed off. Arthur starts walking again, but another scream made him stop once more. “PLEASE, HELP ME!!!” Arthur groaned to himself, rolling his eyes. “Damnit!” Arthur quickly turns, running in the direction the scream came from. He crouched down, as he came upon some thick bushes. Hiding behind them, he pokes his head out to see what was going on. On the other side of the bushes, a little filly with a yellow coat and red mane, with a big pink bow on it, ran from three strange creatures. The creatures had the appearance and stance of wolves, but their bodies were made entirely of lumber and sticks. Nonetheless it didn’t take anything away from the dark-green eyes and jagged sharp teeth of the feral animals. They backed the little filly into a corner and completely surround her from all sides, leaving her nowhere to run. The little filly covers her eyes with her hooves, crying as the creatures closed in on her. Arthur grabs his shotgun from his back, loading a few shells into the barrel before cocking it and prepped to fire. Just as the wolf creatures were about to pounce the poor filly, Arthur pulls the trigger and shoots at the foul creatures. The shot just grazed one and it howls in pain. All three turn their heads toward the direction of the bushes, just as Arthur stepped from behind them with the shotgun ready. The beasts snarled, growling at him as the cowboy looks at them with a look to kill. “Come and get some, ya bastards!” Arthur yelled. The wolves howled once more, rushing toward the outlaw with intent of ripping him limb from limb. Arthur fires another shot, one that a wolf was able to dodge. Arthur loads another round into the barrel, just as one of the wolves lunged at him. Arthur was able to blast the creature into a million pieces. Just as he readies to fire another, one of the wolves sank its wooden teeth into his leg, causing Arthur to groan loudly in pain. He starts punching the beast’s head, which only served to hurt his hand since he was punching wood. The other wolf jumps on Arthur’s back, scratching his shoulder deeply causing him to drop the shotgun. Once again, Arthur loudly groans in pain as the creatures start ripping his flesh. Arthur quickly reaches for his holster, grabbing his custom cattleman revolver and shoots the creature on his back right in the face. The beast falls off, landing flat on the ground and Arthur turns his gun on the other creature and repeats the action. Both creatures fall to the ground, as Arthur clutched his heavily bleeding shoulder and leg. He reaches into his satchel, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and some cloth. He wets the cloth with whiskey and proceeds to clean his wounds so as not to get an infection. He just finally got over the Tuberculosis and he really didn’t want to deal with an infection. To his surprise, the wolves got back to their feet and snarl at him again. Arthur cursed under his breath, as the creatures advance on him again. As quick as he could, Arthur grabs his shotgun off the ground and shoots one of the creatures, exploding it into splinters. The last creature jumps right onto Arthur and they both crash onto the ground. The wolf stood over Arthur, its wooden paws on both his arms keeping them pinned to the sides. The creature drools, snarling in his face. Just as it was about to attack, a strong buck from the little filly sent it flying back. Arthur gets back to his feet, picks up his shotgun, and blast the creature to kingdom come. All three creatures laid exploded into many pieces as Arthur straps the shotgun back on his back. He turns around, seeing the filly huddled back into a tree stump and hiding in her hooves. Arthur slowly limps over to the filly, kneeling down as best as he could. “You’re alright now, kid,” Arthur said. “Please don’t hurt me,” The filly shook. Chuckling at the response, Arthur shook his head. “If I wanted to hurt you, why would ah go through all the trouble helping you just now?” The little filly slowly moves her hooves away from her face, allowing Arthur to see a huge set of orange eyes and a tiny little muzzle quivering in fear. Arthur reached out his hand, offering her help in standing up. Slowly, the little filly places her diminutive hoof in his giant hand. He pulls her up so she could stand on all four hooves and she dusts herself off. “Mighty thanks to yah mister,” The filly spoke, in a thick country accent. “If y’all hadn’t shown up when yah did, I mighta been them Timberwolves supper.” Arthur shook his head of the fact she can talk, especially after now seeing three different equine creatures talking. By now, he just decided to accept it. “What were yah doing out in the middle of the woods, kid?” He asked seriously. “First of all, mah name ain’t kid,” The filly pouted. “It’s Apple Bloom.” Arthur held his hands in defense, cracking a little grin. “My sincerest apologies Miss Bloom,” He fake apologized. “What’s your name?” Apple Bloom asked. “Arthur Morgan,” Arthur answered, tipping his hat. Apple Bloom glances at the strange bipedal creature that just save her, in such curiosity she tilts her head to the side. Never before had she seen a creature such as this, it intrigued her to no end. From his tall stance, his strange appearance, the clothing he wore, and especially those strange weapons on his back and his sides that shoot fire… everything about him peaks her interest. “What are yah?” Apple Bloom asked amazed. “What’s that now?” Arthur asked confused. “Sorry, it’s just that ah never seen a creature like y’all before. Ah don’t know what tah call yah.” Arthur’s leg caused him such large amount of pain he could no longer support his own weight. He sits on the ground, holding his bleeding leg as Apple Bloom came alongside him and sits on her haunches. “Well, best way I can answer that there question is that I’m a human being,” Arthur responds. Apple Bloom’s eyes widen in wonder and amazement. “So yer sayin’ all this time Lyra was tellin’ the truth?” She asked bewildered. “That humans really do exist?” “Beg yer pardon?” He asked in confusion. “See, there’s this pony in town named Lyra that keeps spoutin’ off in town that there’s these things from another world called humans,” Apple Bloom explained. “Normally we just brush it off as nonsense, but ah guess she’s tellin’ the truth cause here yah are.” Arthur didn’t quite know what to make of that statement nor the knowledge that there was definitely more weird, talking horses in this place. He just shook his head. “Look kid, ah ain’t one to tell you about human beings existin’ in your world, especially seeing as how where I come from that talking horses don’t exist.” “Oh, we ain’t horses,” Apple Bloom smiled cutely. “We’re ponies.” Arthur shook his head again, standing from his spot on the ground. Another pained groan, from the pain in his leg and shoulder, escaped his lips. “Guess I best be on my way, now that these three have been taken care of,” Arthur concluded. He starts walking away, when Apple Bloom runs out in front of him and stops him in his track. “Hold on just a second there, Mister Arthur,” Apple Bloom said. “Y’all can’t go on back into them woods while yer injured. At least come back to mah family’s farm so we can getcha stitched up.” Arthur shook his head to the idea, as he kept going. “I don’t need no help kid. I’ve been shot and scuffed up more than could imagine and I’m still livin’.” Apple Bloom watched the man slowly limp away. But she couldn’t let him leave, not without at least thanking him for saving her first. “Wait!” She called out. Arthur stops for a moment, turning around to face the little filly again who smiled at him thankfully. “You saved mah life and I just wanna thank yah. Yer a kind soul, Arthur Morgan.” Once again, Arthur shook his head. “I ain’t no good man, Miss Bloom. Trust me.” Arthur turns right back around, continuing to walk (or rather limping) back towards the cabin. This day certain hadn’t gone as he expected. He went out this day in hops of hunting himself some food; instead, he ends up coming back with a bitten leg and scratched shoulder. He thought back to little Apple Bloom, chuckling to himself. So young, full of wonder and excitement. She reminds him of little Jack Marston. Something else came to Arthur’s mind; wherever he was, the people of this place are talking ponies. How many of them there truly were? He did not know, at least not yet. But one particular question came to mind: What will happen when he finally meets all of them?
The Last StandSometimes, life chooses favorites. But more often, the good people, who do what they must to get by, aren’t so lucky. Arthur Morgan was one of those people. His entire life has been one giant disaster, for twenty years since the day he joined Dutch Van der Linde. Nothing but running from the law and knocking off banks. According to Dutch, it was all in pursuit of a better life for the gang. How blind they were to believe it could ever be true? For months, someone within their gang ratted them out to the Pinkerton Detective Agency. It was only after their final train robbery and saving Abigail Roberts did Arthur realize the mole was none other than Micah Bell. He’d always known Micah was a loose cannon, and yet he never would’ve figured he’d be the one to betray them. To make matters worse: Arthur had been diagnosed with Tuberculosis some time back. The disease slowly but surely affected his lungs, shutting them down. He knew he was a dead man walking that moment forward, but he pressed on as best as he could. Here he was now, surely the last leg of his life. Shortly after escaping Van Horn and the Pinkertons, Arthur, along with Abigail and Sadie Adler found a spot to stop so Arthur could rest. He was wheezing like crazy, coughing up more blood since discovering his tuberculosis. “Arthur, there’s no time,” Sadie insisted. “There’s time,” Arthur disagreed breathlessly. He stretched out his arms toward Abigail, who sat along the rump of Sadie’s horse. “What happened to John?” Abigail asked. “Where’s John?” “I-I don’t,” Arthur began. “I think…” Arthur held out his arms again, helping Abigail down. Sadie also dismounted, holding onto Abigail. “Arthur…” “He…” Arthur began with a shaky voice. “What?” “He got killed or he got captured.” “No…” Abigail lowered her head. Sadie kept hold of Abigail, as she almost lost her balance. Over the knowledge that her husband, John Marston, could very well be dead. “I’m really sorry, Abigail. I’m…” “No!” Abigail cried out. “I was on the train and didn’t see it.” “No-o-o-o-o…” Abigail sobbed. Arthur closed in on her, slowly turning her head so her teary eyes could meet his. “Listen, we got Jack,” Arthur assured. “Mrs. Adler will take you to him, but… John… I want you to know this… he loved you. He loved you and Jack, he did. He wasn’t perfect, but he did. Now… you gotta go get that boy. Go on, get outta here.” Sadie started to climb back onto her hose. “Arthur, what are you doin’?” “I gotta go have a little chat before I get much sicker.” “Oh, Arthur…” Abigail cried. “Don’t you ‘Oh, Arthur’ me… neither of you two, not now. You both know.” Arthur put Abigail on the back of Sadie’s horse. “You’re good women… good people. The best. You go get that boy… there’ll be time for sorrow later.” “I-If you’re headed back there, Arthur,” Abigail reached into her shirt. “Take this. I don’t… need it anymore.” Abigail shows Arthur what appears to be a key. “What’s that?” “There’s a chest in them caves. In the back to the left. Hidden under a wagon. Dutch’s chest. With all out money. I know John told you I knew where it was.” She gave the key to Arthur, who looked at it in disbelief. Arthur released a breath of surprise, as he turned back toward Abigail. “Abigail Roberts.” Abigail took Arthur’s hand, as tears flowed down her face, knowing this might be the last time she ever saw him. “I always was a good thief,” She cried. “That you was. Go on, get outta here.” Arthur turned away from them and got on the back of his white Arabian horse, Serena, as the women left. Looking out through the trees, Arthur reached into his bag and pulled out his signature hat which he placed upon his head. “Come on girl. Time for one last ride” He gave a kick and Serena galloped off leading them back to the gang’s camp at Beaver Hollow. All the while, Arthur’s thoughts were flooded with words of praise from those he helped over the last few months. “You’re a good man. If only you’d done it before he worked hisself into the grave.” “I’m really sorry for you son. It’s a hell of a thing.” “You saved my life. You’re a good man.” “Thank you feller. You know there ain’t enough kindness in the world that’s for sure.” https://m. The sun began to set over the horizon overlooking Beaver Hollow, as what remained of the Van der Linde gang proceeded to pack away the camp. The only ones left in the group were Javier Esquella, Bill Williamson, Susan Grimshaw, and a few of Micah’s hired hands. Overseeing the process was none other than the unpredictable, Micah Bell. The unhinged cowboy grew increasingly impatient with each passing moment that the camp was not moved. “Get them backs packed up quick, Miss Grimshaw!” Micah demanded. “Come on! All of you!” “Well, we’re doin’ our best!” Susan Grimshaw snapped. “Hurry, we ain’t got long… hurry!” “We just got plenty of time, Micah.” It was at the moment Arthur rode up on Serena, quickly climbing off his prized mare and hitched her up before walking quickly towards Micah. The man in question looked over his shoulder seeing Arthur making his way toward him. “We all need to have a little chat.” “Black Lung, you’re back!” Micah said, outstretching his arms with a bow. “That’s great! Hurray.” Arthur looked back towards the tent near the mouth of the cave seeing none other than Dutch walk out. He sneered at the sharply dressed gang leader who left Abigail for the Pinkertons. “I just saw Agent Milton, Dutch. Abigail shot him. She’s okay… not that you care too much about that. You rats… all of you!” Arthur turned directly toward Micah. “Seems Micah was pretty close with Milton,” Arthur accused. “What the hell are you talking about, cowpoke?” Micah asked. Arthur just stared daggers at the treasonous snake that sold him and the rest of the gang down the river. “You talked!” Arthur confessed. Though his demeanor nor his facial expressions admit it, Micah knew he had been found out. However, he still knew he had Dutch in his pocket, and he was going to continue trying to talk his way out. “That’s a goddamn lie!” Micah yelled, turning to Dutch. “Dutch, think of the future!” Dutch turned over toward Arthur. “Milton told me,” Arthur added. “And you believe him, Black Lung?” Micah chuckled. “It all makes sense now,” Arthur shook his head. “No… it damn well doesn’t!” Micah scowled. Arthur quickly reached into his holster, pulling out his revolver. Micah did the same, as Bill and Javier pulled out their rifles. All the men were willing to kill one another here and now, as Dutch kept looking back and forth trying to figure out who to believe. “Dutch, think!” Arthur snapped. “Dutch, be practical now,” Micah warned. Dutch continued to look between Arthur, who had been with him for twenty years, and Micah, who had helped him garner such a variety of wealth in such a short time. Just as it appeared he was about to make his decision, a new voice cut through the air and shocked them all. “Dutch!” Everyone turned toward the side, seeing John Marston stumble out of the foliage. He clutched his bleeding shoulder where he had been shot in the train robbery. It was shocking seeing as how Dutch said he was either dead or captured by the police. “John?” Bill said. “You left me…” John growled. “You left me to die!” “My boy…” Dutch spoke, walking from his tent. “I didn’t have a choice. John, I didn’t…” “You!” “I didn’t have a choice.” “Left me!” “It wasn’t like that!” Dutch snarled. “All of you… you pick your side now, because this is over,” Arthur said calmly. “All them years, Dutch… for this snake?!” “Oh, be quiet, cowpoke!” Micah said. “Be quiet. You live in the clouds.” “No,” Susan said, approaching with a shot gun. “You be quiet, Mr. Bell, and put down your gun.” Then, Javier came running back to the group rapidly in great concern. “There’s Pinkertons coming this way!” He said urgently. During the distraction, Micah shot Susan right in the gut and she fell to the ground, groaning and moaning in pain. Dutch pulled out his guns, aiming at Arthur and Micah. “Now! Who amongst you is with me…” He demanded, as his aim remained. “And ‘who’ is betrayin’ me?” John joined Arthur’s side, but everyone else moved to Dutch’s. “Bill, Javier, think… think for yourselves!” Arthur urged, starting to cough. “He’s lyin!” Micah said. “Hee’sss lyyyiinnnggg!” “Put your guns down!” Suddenly, the Pinkertons swarmed their location in large numbers. Many of them with big guns. Shooting started, as everyone ducked for cover. “God dammit!” Dutch shouted. “Move!” Arthur took cover behind a large box to avoid the bullets blazing past him, while John hid behind a stack of crates. “You ready, John?” Arthur asked. “Yeah!” John replied. “Everyone get down!” Dutch shouted. “This is Agent Ross with the Pinkerton Detective Agency! Put your guns down!” The firing of guns echoed through the air, as Arthur and John kept shooting and the Pinkertons kept gaining ground. “The others have run for it!” John shouted. “It’s just us anyways, John!” Arthur pointed out. “Where’s Van der Linde?” Ross shouted to his men. “Get after them and find him!” “Come on!” John yelled. “Into the caves!” Arthur fires off a few more shots, killing a few more Pinkertons before following John deep into the mouth of the mountain. The two men proceed to climb the rocks and ledges of the cave, trying to reach the ladder leading to the outside. “Those bastards left me for dead!” John snarled. “Seems that’s what they do now!” Arthur barked. “Micah was the rat, John! Milton told me!” “We should’ve killed him months ago!” John said. John and Arthur climbed up the ladder, just as the sky turned black and the stars shined brightly on the night sky. It would have been beautiful, if not for the fact they were hunted down. Once up, Arthur bent over and wheezed out a few coughs. They ran down the hill and whistled for their mounts. “Abigail… Abigail’s safe,” Arthur breathed out. “So’s Jack.” “Where are they?” John asked. “They’re with Sadie… at Copperhead Landing.” John took Arthur’s hand. “Thank you… brother.” John went to go, but Arthur kept his grip on him. “I want you… to not look back… like I said.” Serena and Rachel came up and they mounted up. Suddenly, the remaining Van der Linde gang rode up on them and started shooting. Arthur and John rushed quickly down the trail when more Pinkertons showed up, but they dealt with them rather quickly. Yet they kept coming, more of them blocked the road ahead so they had to turn around. Arthur kept shooting and riding, and riding and shooting. It was in that moment Arthur went flying off Serena, who’d been shot out of nowhere and they both fell to the ground. Arthur fell on his ass, got up, and started shooting every Pinkerton in sight. Apparently Rachel had been shot, leaving him and John with no mounts. Arthur went to Serena’s side, gently stroking her mane as what remained of her life slipped away. “Thank you,” Arthur thanked her. Arthur grabbed his bow, his arrows, his shotgun, and his repeater from his dead horse’s saddle. “Arthur, let’s go!” John yelled. Arthur turned back towards the burnt remains of the old camp, and he couldn’t stop thinking of the chest full of money Abigail told him about. He grabbed the key in his hand, turning back toward John. “Well, what about the money?” He asked. “Abigail gave me the key.” “I head down there and I’m dead in five minutes,” John shook his head. “I’ve got a family man, that’s more important.” “Ah, maybe you’re right, but…” John walked right up to Arthur and got in his face. It was the most intense Arthur has seen of John. “You want the money?” John asked heatedly. “You head back down there. I gotta go to my family.” Arthur looked between John and the burning remains of the camp. Sure, the money was ripe for the taking. But he also knew Abigail and little Jack were worth more than all that gold. Not to mention John was finally acting like a man for his family. There was no question what he wanted to do. Arthur put his hat back on his head, nodding at John. “I’m coming with you.” Arthur patted John on the shoulder, as he walked past him and started up the mountain with John following behind. “I’m gonna get you out of this bullshit if it’s the last goddamn thing I do,” Arthur declared determinedly. As they proceed up the mountain, more and more Pinkertons showed up and shot at them. Thankfully, both men ducked the barrage of bullets zipping by them and both hid behind a couple rocks. Arthur grabbed his shotgun, blasting a few Pinkertons with such force it knocked them right off the mountain. Once a majority of them were dead, they continued up the mountain until Arthur had to stop and cough, spitting up blood. He’d been greatly exceeding his limits throughout the entirety of this mission, and his health was only getting worse. “Alright Arthur!” John called. “Come on, let’s go!” Arthur looked up at John, then back at the rapidly approaching Pinkertons. They were quickly gaining ground; at this point, Arthur knew he was just dead weight. If he continued on with John, they’d both get captured and likely killed. He was already a dead man anyways, so he figured he could at least give John a chance. “You go!” He waved John along. John turned back towards Arthur, quickly making for his side as Arthur continued to cough. “Keep pushing Arthur!” John encouraged. Arthur let out another series of coughs before shaking his head. “No…” Arthur coughed more blood. “No… I think I’ve pushed all I can.” “We ain’t got time for this, not now!” John said. “Come on, we gotta go!” Arthur just sighed, removing his hat from his head. He shook as he turned towards John. “We ain’t both gonna make it,” He admitted. “Go… now. I’ll hold them off.” Arthur took his hat, placing it directly on John’s head. He gave the boy a pat on the shoulder, giving him a small smile. “It would mean a lot to me… please.” Arthur handed John the satchel, with all his money so he might use it to help provide a good life for him, Abigail, and Jack. “Go!” Arthur instructed. Arthur began to continue up the mountain before being stopped by John. “Arthur…” “Go to your family!” Arthur instructed again. “Arthur!” John yelled. “Get the hell outta here!” Arthur said loudly. “And be a God damn man!” John just stared at Arthur for what felt like forever before finally nodding and walked down the mountain. He turned back toward Arthur one last time. “You’re my brother,” He said. “I know!” Arthur responded. “I know…” Arthur continued up the mountain, shooting at the Pinkertons. “God damn, you bastards!” https://m. He knelt down behind another rock, using his repeater to finish the job. Using his dead eye vision, Arthur hit a series of head shots on a number of Pinkertons before being tackled from behind. He was viciously yanked onto his back, seeing Micah kneel over him with his fist raised. “I got ya now, Black Lung!” Micah yelled. “You rat…” Arthur snarled at him. “You rat!” “I’m a…” Micah’s fist contacted Arthur’s jaw, hard enough that it could have easily broken it. “survivor, Black Lung…” Another punch contacted Arthur’s jaw. “That’s all there is… livin’ and dyin’!” Arthur used whatever momentum he had, whatever strength he had left, to throw Micah off of him and they both tumbled over the edge, falling to the hard ground below. Both men groaned as they slowly got back to their feet, preparing to throw punches at one another. Micah grabbed Arthur by the collar of his brown leather coat, delivering a swift blow to the gut. As he was about to deliver another, Arthur blocked it and delivered a straight shot to the side of Micah’s face causing him to stagger back. “Oh Black Lung,” Micah said evilly. “You don’t know how long I’ve longed to do this!” The two men traded blows for an eternity, as they knocked each other down, choked one another, and slammed each other into the stone wall of the mountain. Finally, Micah had Arthur pinned to the ground and delivered punches to his face. That is until Arthur finally landed a strong strike toward Micah, knocking the man off him and toward the ground. Arthur noticed Micah’s discarded revolver off to the side and crawled as quickly as he could to get it. “All there is… winning… and losing…” Micah taunted. Just as Arthur grabbed the revolver, Micah snatched him off the ground and slammed him into the mountain wall. This gave Arthur a moment to backhand Micah with the revolver knocking both men to the ground. The revolver flew out of Arthur’s hand, landing a few feet away. Arthur wheezed and gasped, badly beaten and bloody, as he crawled towards the gun. “Oh Black Lung,” Micah taunted as he got up. “You ain’t gonna reach that gun. You ain’t. You lost, my sick friend. You lost.” Arthur still crawled anyway, wheezing his way up. “In the end, Micah,” Arthur wheezed out. “Despite my best efforts to the contrary, it turns out I’ve won. God damn ya!” He grabbed for the gun, only for Dutch to put his foot on Arthur’s hand, which made Arthur cry out. “It is over now, Arthur,” Dutch declared. “It’s over.” “Ooh, Dutch…” Arthur said breathlessly. “He’s a rat. You know it, and I know it.” “He’s sick!” Micah insisted. “He’s dyin’… he’s talkin’ crazy.” Arthur looked up toward Dutch, shaking and struggling to breathe. “I gave you all I had… I did.” Dutch looked at Arthur, blinking a few times tying to process the entire situation in his head. Here at his feet laid the man who’d given him everything for the last twenty years. But now he was gasping for breath, and in his dying words claiming Micah was the traitor all along. What was Dutch to believe? “Come on!” Micah called out toward Dutch. “Dutch… let’s go buddy. We made it. We won.” Arthur looked up at Dutch, laying on his back. “John made it. He’s the only one. But the rest of us… no. But… I tried. In the end… I did.” Arthur gasped, fighting to breathe. The sound of the Pinkertons drew closer, garnering Micah’s attention and he knew he had to move this along. “Come on… let’s go. We can make it!” Dutch looked between Micah and the fallen Arthur. He didn’t truly know who or what to believe, but one thing he did know was that he needed to get the hell out before he got killed or arrested. With this in mind, Dutch Van der Linde slowly backed toward the mountain before turning and walking away from the scene. “Come on, Dutch…” Micah called. “Come on!” Seeing Dutch wasn’t coming with him, Micah snarled and walked his own way off the mountain. They left Arthur wheezing and gasping for air, as he slowly crawled away. He crawled a few feet away until he came to a slanted portion of the mountain wall and leaned against it. He groaned a gasp for breath, as he slowly turned his head toward the sun slowly rising over the horizon. Sure, he may not have always been the best man in the world, but Arthur Morgan knew for sure he was a good man. Seeing the last sun rise over the horizon was most certainly the least God could offer him. Arthur took a few more breathes, before he exhaled slowly and that was the end of it, as his eyes closed on this world… forever.
The ShamanArthur’s Journal: Equestria Entry #1 From the moment my last breath escaped me along the mountaintop, my new life began. Had anyone told me exactly the kind of things I’d see, the enemies I’d make, and the friends who’d stick by, I’d have put them out of their insanity with two in the head. But then again, maybe I should be thanking them. For little did I know, dying on that mountain top may have been the damn near best thing that’s ever happened to me. And it all began with the Shaman… <> Drifting between the seemingly endless void, between life and death, nothing before looked quite so beautiful. A grassy meadow bathed in golden light, as a gentle breeze drifted through the air, made the atmosphere ever so peaceful. The only inhabitants of said meadow was a lone white tailed buck leaned down to partake in the beautiful glade and a certain decease gunslinger. Arthur didn’t want to believe this is what he was actually seeing. He didn’t truly believe he deserved to see something so beautiful. No matter what manner of good deeds he’s done, or the countless lives he saved, he never truly believed himself to be a good man. All he considered himself to be was a gunslinger, a robber, a heartless bastard who deserved nothing but pain. Sensing another presence, the buck lifted its head from the grass and stared directly in the eyes of Arthur Morgan. The man had seen this very same buck before in his dreams, right after discovering his Tuberculosis. Strangely enough, the buck didn’t seem to fear him as most others would. Instead, it simply looked at him as though he were a friend or companion. “Your life has not yet ended Arthur Morgan; in fact, it’s merely just begun.” Amazed and confused, Arthur stared upon the buck that seemed to have spoken to him. But he didn’t have time to question the creature, as the buck turned its head and slowly walked off over the glen towards the blinding light. Arthur decided to follow the buck, seeing as he had nowhere else to go. Before too long, he too was consumed by the blinding golden radiance. <> Arthur’s eyes shot open, as he gasped greatly for air. He laid out upon the cold hard ground, staring straight into the air. Taking deep shallow breaths, Arthur slowly sat up on the palms of his hands and looked around toward his surroundings. Nothing but dark trees surrounded him, and he heard nothing but the faint chirping of birds. This made no sense to him, seeing as how he died on the mountaintop overlooking the rising sun. He shook his head at the memory of drawing his final breath on that mountain and figured this must be hell. “Damn!” He cursed under his breath. “Ah knew it was only a matter of time ‘fore I ended up here.” Slowly lifting himself back onto his legs, Arthur scoped the landscape he now resided in. If this truly was hell, it certainly didn’t look the way he had grown up hearing about. No fires with dancing demons nor even the damn devil laughing at his eternal pain and misery. A sudden, violent coughing fit made Arthur forget these thoughts and instead focus on finding his way out of the forest. “Seems ah can’t escape this God damn disease,” Arthur groaned. “Not even in death.” He found his weapon bag, with all his supplies just a few inches away. Holstering them to his side, slinging them over his shoulders, he proceeds to walk through the thick foliage. Having spent most of his life camping in the wilderness, it wasn’t hard for Arthur to navigate his way through the forest. The problem was all the coughing and the blood he was spitting out. Whether he was truly dead or not, he needed to find some manner of medical help. Stumbling his way through the trees, Arthur eventually came to a stop and rested upon a large oak tree, to catch both his balance and his breath. For he knew the longer he kept this up, the more difficult it would become to function properly. Leaning against the tree, Arthur soon noticed another tree not far from him except this looked as if it had been fashioned into a house of sorts. He didn’t know what to make of this or even why someone would want to live in a tree. But at the moment, it didn’t really matter. Pushing off the tree, Arthur trudged up toward the door of the house and knocked loudly. “Hey!” He yelled. “Anyone in there!” No response came, so he knocked more violently. “Ah ain’t gonna hurt nobody! Ah just need help.” Once again, no response came, and Arthur could feel another violent coughing fit quickly approach. He hunched over, coughing more blood before eventually toppling over and gasping for air once more. As he vision began to fade, he thought he could see the outline of a strange quadruped creature wearing a cloak slowly approach him. Soon his vision left him entirely, as he slipped into unconscious. <> Next thing Arthur Morgan could comprehend, his eyes slowly opened, and his vision was blurry as hell. He couldn’t make out any shape or form of anything around him, but one thing he knew was that he was no longer outside. He wasn’t even laying on the ground anymore; instead, he laid along a comfortable bed that was soft yet sturdy at the same time. It certainly paled in comparison to any hotel bed or bedroll he’d ever slept on from Strawberry to Annesburg. He groaned as he slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes trying to get his vision back so he could see exactly where he was. When his vision finally came back, he searched around the area. He appeared to be in a room of sorts, where many strange things hung from the ceiling. So many bizarre masks resided along the walls, resembling from those of some African tribe he’d heard tales about in Saint Dennis. The thing that caught his attention most was the giant cauldron sitting over a blazing fire sitting in the middle of the room. “Arthur, where the hell did you end up now?” He thought to himself. “To move about so suddenly would not be best. It would be better for you to lay back and rest.” Arthur’s head snapped to the side of the room toward the strange voice. Some strange figure of sorts stood in the corner completely shrouded in darkness. Arthur instinctively reached for his weapons, only to find out that they were no longer holstered to his side. He turned back toward the figure; a confused look plastered on his face. “Where the hell am I?” Arthur asked. “In my humble abode do you now reside,” The figure responded. “After I found you unconscious outside.” Arthur narrowed his eyes toward the figure, trying to see if he could make out what they look like. “Why don’t you come on out here?” He gestured. “I got a much better time talking to folks when I can see their faces.” The figure in question slowly started walking towards the light of the fire, as its form soon began to show. The figure turned out to be a zebra of sorts, with a mohawk-style mane and stripes in various parts of its body. It also had an assortment of golden rings around its neck and foreleg, as well as two golden earrings dangling from its ears. The zebra bowed its head to Arthur with a smile along its muzzle. One look and Arthur fell back onto the bed with a groan, covering his face with his hand. “God dammit!” He cursed. “First Tuberculosis takes away whatever sort of life ah got lef; now ah’ve gone crazy!” The zebra giggled before slowly making her way over to the side of the bed. “Insane you are not stranger, for it is quite true,” She assured. “I am indeed the one that is speaking to you.” Arthur slowly removed his hands from his face, before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He scratched the heavy stubble on his face as he shook his head in disbelief. “All ah’m missin’ now is Alice and the white rabbit,” He spoke begrudgingly, to himself. “Ah’ll be mad as a hatter then.” “Why is it so hard to believe when you can plainly see?” The zebra asked. “Is it indeed true you are talking to me?” “Cuz where ah’m from, horses don’t go talkin’ back to yah.” Arthur then let out a chuckle, as he shook his head again. “Now ah’m actually talkin’ to the damn zebra! If only John and Uncle could see me now.” The zebra merely shrugged to herself before approaching the large cauldron, using her hoof to lift a large spoon and stir the contents. “You know stranger, I’ve traveled Equestria through and through. But I have never seen an odd creature quite like you.” Arthur couldn’t help but laugh weakly toward himself, that the talking zebra is the one who just called him odd. “Well, ah can say the same thing about talking zebras,” Arthur shot back. “You know calling you stranger is becoming a tiresome game. How about if I tell you mine, then you tell me your name?” Arthur thought for a moment, as he stroked his heavily dribbled chin. Should he tell this zebra his name? It could very well mean signing his own death warrant if the police found out. Then he remembered he was sitting in a house-tree and talking to a zebra. Either he was hallucinating, or he was truly in hell. No matter what he did, it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. “Names Arthur Morgan, ma’am,” Arthur greeted. He stuck out his hand toward the zebra, who only stared at the strange appendage curiously. Never before had she seen anything quite like it before and she was completely unaware of what to do. “Ain’t you never heard of a handshake before?” Arthur asked. The zebra stared upon the man’s outstretched hand before slowly lifting one of her hooves off the floor and gently placed it into his hand. Arthur shook lightly, as the zebra actually smiled over the tiny gesture. “Now that ah told you my name, it’s only fair ah get yours in return,” Arthur spoke up. The zebra nodded, pulling her hoof back and stood upon all fours again. “A pleasure to meet you Arthur Morgan, that much I can say. You may call me Zecora, who saved your life on this day.” “What do you mean ‘saved my life’?” Arthur asked. “When you fell outside my home, you were pale and gravely sick,” Zecora responded. “I brought you inside and crafted a potion that did the trick.” Arthur just held his hand over his forehead, shaking his head. He heard so much rhyming out of this zebra today and it was quickly getting on his nerves. “Is there a way you can tell me what the hell happened without having to rhyme?” Arthur asked seriously. Zebra giggled, as she returned toward the cauldron. She grabbed a small ladle in her teeth and scooped some of its contents into a small vial. “From your gasping for breath and your pale appearance, this I was able to deduce. That you had a terrible sickness I needed to reduce.” Again Arthur groaned, the constant rhyming this silly zebra constantly had to do each time she spoke drove him crazy. “Well, you wasted your time lady,” He sighed. “Ain’t no doctor been able to find a cure for Tuberculosis.” “Finding a cure was not hard to offer you relief, feast your eyes upon this and quench your belief.” Zecora walked forward with the vial between her teeth. She released it onto Arthur’s open hand and the cowboy just looked at it. “Just what exactly is this?” He asked. “Simply drink this liquid and your ailment will cease,” Zecora answered. “This will finally offer you much needed sickness release.” Arthur gazed at the vial in his hand, his mind raced with many different thoughts. Should he drink it or should he not? Could he truly trust this zebra he just met? Why would she want to help him of all people? Feeling a violent surge of coughing coming on, his decision quickly became easier. Arthur uncorked the vial and drank the entire contents in one swig. The moment the liquid began to flow down his throat, he could immediately feel a change. The color began to return to his body, his violent coughing ceased altogether, and he could finally breathe easily again. He hadn’t felt this good since the first time he and the rest of the crew settled at Horseshoe Overlook near Valentine. Turning toward Zecora, Arthur had a dumbfounded look on his face. “How?” He asked in disbelief. “How were you able to do what no doctor in the world could do?” “My medicines are strange Mr. Morgan, but they bring forth good will,” Zecora smiled. “This potion has driven the ailment from your being, so you’ll never again grow ill.” Arthur slowly approached Zecora, falling to his knees before the zebra. Without thinking about his actions, he wrapped his arms around the zebra with a hug. “Thank you, Zecora,” He said thankfully. Zecora patted his back with her hoof, as he pulled away. “Now if you don’t mind me asking, just what did you do with all my stuff?” “You needn’t worry dear Arthur, your effects I shall return to you,” Zecora assured. “I kept them safe in my room until you came to.” Zecora trotted off to another room, before returning with Arthur’s bag and weapons draped over her back. Arthur grabbed his rifle and bow, slinging them over his shoulder. Then he holstered his pistol and revolver to his sides. He grabbed his bag and looked down at Zecora. “Before ah go, ah just wanna thank you for what you’ve done fer me. Ain’t a whole lot of folk who would do what you did for a man like me.” “You need not thank me Arthur, it is the least I could do,” Zecora assured. “I would gladly do it again for a good soul like you.” Arthur turned toward the door of Zecora’s hut but stopped just before opening it. He turns back toward Zecora one last time. “Ah ain’t no good man, Zecora. I’ve done terrible things in my life. But I thank you still for saving my useless life.” With that said, Arthur pulled the door open and closed it behind him as he left. Zecora stood there looking after the strange man in confusion. How could he not think himself as good?” <> Fully revamped and better than ever, Arthur Morgan strolled through the dark forest in search for a place to stay. True, he could have stayed with Zecore for the time being. But he didn’t wish to burden her nor put her at risk for harboring a dangerous outlaw like him. He’s only known the strange zebra for a short time, but she had been more kind to him than most people have ever been. After an hour of walking, Arthur finally felt the fatigue of walking for so long. How he wished he still had Serena with him. Thinking of his fallen mare made the gunslinger close his eyes, remember his beloved horse. She had been with him through thick and thin; she helped him escape the law, catch bounties, and even rob trains. Now that his horse was gone, it felt like a big part of his soul was missing. Finally, he came upon something that brought him a sense of relief. Nestled in a small clearing, in the endless amount of dark trees, was a small log cabin. If it weren’t in use, surely it would provide him some decent shelter. Crouching so as not to be seen, Arthur slowly crept towards the cabin. He peeked through the tiny window to see if anyone currently occupied the small dwelling. But the complete lack of light made it difficult to see inside. Arthur knew he’d have to go inside to make completely sure it was empty. Pulling out his revolver, Arthur crept toward the door and slowly opened it. Entering the cabin, he checked every square inch of the property before confirming it was indeed empty. “Looks like I’ve found myself a place to stay,” Arthur said to himself. There was a fireplace connected to a stone chimney and thankfully there was firewood at the ready. Reaching into his bag, Arthur pulled out a box of matches and lit one before throwing it into the fireplace. Pulling out a few old bounty posters he collected, he proceeds to rip them for kindling. Before too long, there was a roaring flame to keep him warm. Arthur sat alongside the fire, pulling out the bedroll he thankfully was able to grab off Serena before he and John ran from the Pinkertons. He laid the bedroll out alongside the fire, lying down to get himself comfortable. Just as the fatigue proved too much to handle and sleep began to overtake him, one thing crossed Arthur’s mind. “Regardless if this hell or a hallucination, this is my reality now.”
Timberwolves AttackArthur’s Journal: Equestria Entry #2 I still ain’t entirely sure whether I’m in hell or this is all some insane dream in my twisted head. Regardless, it weren’t until I arrived here that I was finally able to be rid of this disease and I hope it don’t come back. That Zecora character I met was definitely something I never expected to see in my entire life. I still find myself questioning my own sanity. No matter what I think about her, I really have her to thank. Might have died all over again if it weren’t for her, I can surely say I ain’t planning on that happening again. After I left Zecora’s hut, I was able to find refuse in an abandoned cabin in the forest where I now currently reside. Ain’t too sure whether or not I should find civilization to replenish my supplies. If the natives here are anything like Zecora, I don’t know if I wanna meet them. Guess I’m alright out here for now; if I have to, I can hunt for my food. Don’t know exactly what type of animals are in this here forest, but I’m itching to find out. Arthur’s eyes slowly open, he groans as he sat up on his bedroll. It never felt good for his back sleeping on the ground whenever he had to make camp on long journeys. At least on those journeys, the ground he slept on was occasionally soft. In this cabin, there’s only the hard wooden surface most unforgiving. Arthur sat up from the ground, noting the smoldering ashes of the fire that had been burning the night before. There wasn’t any other firewood in the cabin, so he figured he’d have to find some more later. The rumbling in his gut made him forget the moment because it’s apparent he needs food. He grabs his satchel he laid upon the side and pulled out some canned peaches. Downing the entire contents in a single gulp, he chucks the now empty can aside. Digging into the satchel, he noticed he still had a decent amount of provisions. But he knew he’d have to ration it well. “If I’m going to eat, I’m due for some hunting,” He commented. Stepping back on his feel, he slings his satchel over his shoulder. He picks up his double-barrel shotgun, his bow and arrows, and the revolvers from the table and straps each of his gear onto himself, fully prepared for what’s out there. Emerging from the cabin, Arthur takes a good look around the area to determine the best direction to start. Since he didn’t have a compass, it was a guessing game at this point. “I suppose I’ll head this way,” He pointed, assuming the direction is North. Arthur trudged through the dense foliage of trees, seeking a good spot to hunt. All the while, he uses his dead eye vision to scout for any signs of animals. After a period of walking, he noticed a patch of berry bushes and his dead eye showed him signs of a trail. Kneeling to a crouch, Arthur snuck up to the bushes and noticed a trail of tiny paw prints heading towards a clearing in the trees. He bends further for a good look at the tracks. “Rabbit,” He observed. He remembered hunting a few rabbits back when he and Hosea first hunted that thousand-pound bear when they settled at Horseshoe Overlook. They actually taste good when cooked over a hot fire. Thinking about Hosea made Arthur stop for a moment, removing his hat in remembrance. The old man was like a second father him, right after Dutch, and he hated seeing him shot down by that Pinkerton bastard Milton during the Saint Dennis heist. Pushing the old thoughts back into his head, Arthur grabbed the bow off his back and continued his hunt for rabbits. He follows the trail for a good few meters before coming upon a set of tracks. “Must be an entire family,” Arthur marveled. He continues on, following the tracks until eventually coming upon a tiny clearing in the trees where the sun shines through the dark foliage. Grabbing some herbivore bait from his satchel, Arthur places the bait in the midst of the clearing before moving back quickly and hides in the bushes. Grabbing his bow, readying an arrow, he waits for a while until eventually two little white rabbits hop towards the bait. Arthur pulls the arrow back, ready to fire. Just as he was about to let the arrow loose, a voice cuts through the silence of the forest. “Please come back little ones!” Arthur turns toward the source of the voice and sure enough, just when this couldn’t get any more strange, it happened. Out from the trees there appears to be a miniature horse, with a butter-yellow coat and long pink mane. What surprised the notorious gunslinger most, as if those other qualities weren’t surprising enough, a set of wings protrude from its back. The creature resembles a Pegasus from what Arthur could remember from ancient Greek texts he heard of. “Just when I thought this couldn’t get more insane,” Arthur muttered to himself. The Pegasus floats toward the two rabbits, scooping them up in her arms. “Don’t worry little ones, you’re safe now,” She said soothingly. “Let’s all head back home before something bad happens.” Quick as a whip, the Pegasus shot off into the forest, taking the two rabbits with her. This left Arthur crouching in the bushes, confused. Within the expanse of a single day, he already met a talking zebra and now he had seen a mythical talking Pegasus. Perhaps he really is dead, that this is all part of some form of weird, confusing hell. Regardless, he just lost his meal and now he had to search for another means to eat. Arthur walks back in the direction he’d originally came from, continuing for another half an hour. He searched for more signs of animals in the area, but so far had no luck. It really shouldn’t be this difficult to find animals in a forest like this. “AHHHHHHHH!!!” A loud scream pierced the air, grabbing Arthur’s attention. It sounded like a child’s scream coming from his right. Normally Arthur was one to help in a situation like this, but he was clearly no longer in his own world anymore. “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” He brushed off. Arthur starts walking again, but another scream made him stop once more. “PLEASE, HELP ME!!!” Arthur groaned to himself, rolling his eyes. “Damnit!” Arthur quickly turns, running in the direction the scream came from. He crouched down, as he came upon some thick bushes. Hiding behind them, he pokes his head out to see what was going on. On the other side of the bushes, a little filly with a yellow coat and red mane, with a big pink bow on it, ran from three strange creatures. The creatures had the appearance and stance of wolves, but their bodies were made entirely of lumber and sticks. Nonetheless it didn’t take anything away from the dark-green eyes and jagged sharp teeth of the feral animals. They backed the little filly into a corner and completely surround her from all sides, leaving her nowhere to run. The little filly covers her eyes with her hooves, crying as the creatures closed in on her. Arthur grabs his shotgun from his back, loading a few shells into the barrel before cocking it and prepped to fire. Just as the wolf creatures were about to pounce the poor filly, Arthur pulls the trigger and shoots at the foul creatures. The shot just grazed one and it howls in pain. All three turn their heads toward the direction of the bushes, just as Arthur stepped from behind them with the shotgun ready. The beasts snarled, growling at him as the cowboy looks at them with a look to kill. “Come and get some, ya bastards!” Arthur yelled. The wolves howled once more, rushing toward the outlaw with intent of ripping him limb from limb. Arthur fires another shot, one that a wolf was able to dodge. Arthur loads another round into the barrel, just as one of the wolves lunged at him. Arthur was able to blast the creature into a million pieces. Just as he readies to fire another, one of the wolves sank its wooden teeth into his leg, causing Arthur to groan loudly in pain. He starts punching the beast’s head, which only served to hurt his hand since he was punching wood. The other wolf jumps on Arthur’s back, scratching his shoulder deeply causing him to drop the shotgun. Once again, Arthur loudly groans in pain as the creatures start ripping his flesh. Arthur quickly reaches for his holster, grabbing his custom cattleman revolver and shoots the creature on his back right in the face. The beast falls off, landing flat on the ground and Arthur turns his gun on the other creature and repeats the action. Both creatures fall to the ground, as Arthur clutched his heavily bleeding shoulder and leg. He reaches into his satchel, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and some cloth. He wets the cloth with whiskey and proceeds to clean his wounds so as not to get an infection. He just finally got over the Tuberculosis and he really didn’t want to deal with an infection. To his surprise, the wolves got back to their feet and snarl at him again. Arthur cursed under his breath, as the creatures advance on him again. As quick as he could, Arthur grabs his shotgun off the ground and shoots one of the creatures, exploding it into splinters. The last creature jumps right onto Arthur and they both crash onto the ground. The wolf stood over Arthur, its wooden paws on both his arms keeping them pinned to the sides. The creature drools, snarling in his face. Just as it was about to attack, a strong buck from the little filly sent it flying back. Arthur gets back to his feet, picks up his shotgun, and blast the creature to kingdom come. All three creatures laid exploded into many pieces as Arthur straps the shotgun back on his back. He turns around, seeing the filly huddled back into a tree stump and hiding in her hooves. Arthur slowly limps over to the filly, kneeling down as best as he could. “You’re alright now, kid,” Arthur said. “Please don’t hurt me,” The filly shook. Chuckling at the response, Arthur shook his head. “If I wanted to hurt you, why would ah go through all the trouble helping you just now?” The little filly slowly moves her hooves away from her face, allowing Arthur to see a huge set of orange eyes and a tiny little muzzle quivering in fear. Arthur reached out his hand, offering her help in standing up. Slowly, the little filly places her diminutive hoof in his giant hand. He pulls her up so she could stand on all four hooves and she dusts herself off. “Mighty thanks to yah mister,” The filly spoke, in a thick country accent. “If y’all hadn’t shown up when yah did, I mighta been them Timberwolves supper.” Arthur shook his head of the fact she can talk, especially after now seeing three different equine creatures talking. By now, he just decided to accept it. “What were yah doing out in the middle of the woods, kid?” He asked seriously. “First of all, mah name ain’t kid,” The filly pouted. “It’s Apple Bloom.” Arthur held his hands in defense, cracking a little grin. “My sincerest apologies Miss Bloom,” He fake apologized. “What’s your name?” Apple Bloom asked. “Arthur Morgan,” Arthur answered, tipping his hat. Apple Bloom glances at the strange bipedal creature that just save her, in such curiosity she tilts her head to the side. Never before had she seen a creature such as this, it intrigued her to no end. From his tall stance, his strange appearance, the clothing he wore, and especially those strange weapons on his back and his sides that shoot fire… everything about him peaks her interest. “What are yah?” Apple Bloom asked amazed. “What’s that now?” Arthur asked confused. “Sorry, it’s just that ah never seen a creature like y’all before. Ah don’t know what tah call yah.” Arthur’s leg caused him such large amount of pain he could no longer support his own weight. He sits on the ground, holding his bleeding leg as Apple Bloom came alongside him and sits on her haunches. “Well, best way I can answer that there question is that I’m a human being,” Arthur responds. Apple Bloom’s eyes widen in wonder and amazement. “So yer sayin’ all this time Lyra was tellin’ the truth?” She asked bewildered. “That humans really do exist?” “Beg yer pardon?” He asked in confusion. “See, there’s this pony in town named Lyra that keeps spoutin’ off in town that there’s these things from another world called humans,” Apple Bloom explained. “Normally we just brush it off as nonsense, but ah guess she’s tellin’ the truth cause here yah are.” Arthur didn’t quite know what to make of that statement nor the knowledge that there was definitely more weird, talking horses in this place. He just shook his head. “Look kid, ah ain’t one to tell you about human beings existin’ in your world, especially seeing as how where I come from that talking horses don’t exist.” “Oh, we ain’t horses,” Apple Bloom smiled cutely. “We’re ponies.” Arthur shook his head again, standing from his spot on the ground. Another pained groan, from the pain in his leg and shoulder, escaped his lips. “Guess I best be on my way, now that these three have been taken care of,” Arthur concluded. He starts walking away, when Apple Bloom runs out in front of him and stops him in his track. “Hold on just a second there, Mister Arthur,” Apple Bloom said. “Y’all can’t go on back into them woods while yer injured. At least come back to mah family’s farm so we can getcha stitched up.” Arthur shook his head to the idea, as he kept going. “I don’t need no help kid. I’ve been shot and scuffed up more than could imagine and I’m still livin’.” Apple Bloom watched the man slowly limp away. But she couldn’t let him leave, not without at least thanking him for saving her first. “Wait!” She called out. Arthur stops for a moment, turning around to face the little filly again who smiled at him thankfully. “You saved mah life and I just wanna thank yah. Yer a kind soul, Arthur Morgan.” Once again, Arthur shook his head. “I ain’t no good man, Miss Bloom. Trust me.” Arthur turns right back around, continuing to walk (or rather limping) back towards the cabin. This day certain hadn’t gone as he expected. He went out this day in hops of hunting himself some food; instead, he ends up coming back with a bitten leg and scratched shoulder. He thought back to little Apple Bloom, chuckling to himself. So young, full of wonder and excitement. She reminds him of little Jack Marston. Something else came to Arthur’s mind; wherever he was, the people of this place are talking ponies. How many of them there truly were? He did not know, at least not yet. But one particular question came to mind: What will happen when he finally meets all of them?
