Chapter Text
Flies greeted him, their flight so loud it reminded him of a swarm of locust descending upon the mountain around him, feasting on what was left of a great conflict. The carcasses of two horses had led the way, starting the trail off the main road, bodies taut with rigor and insects staking claim over their blackening flesh. He recognized them both, one a wiry little thing, dark and spotted in white. The other a great silver-maned stallion. He knew these horses, and that reopened the pit deep in his stomach, one that yawned wide and threatened to swallow him whole.
Many of the men had been collected already, but some still lay in the long grass, scattered here or there where they'd been felled. Sloppily, too, riddled with body shots. It wasn't like his partner's usual accuracy and ironic mercy. Charles followed as the story unfolded all the way up to the peak, brushing fingers over a small boulder pocked from gunfire. There was a cliff to his side, an updraft bringing warm air over him that did little to soothe the clammy and uncomfortable chill that had settled heavy within. The body he was searching for was nowhere to be seen up here, and with a deep breath, he gathered his courage to look over the edge.
Red flowers dotted ground below and a slip of blue stood out among the spring growth, Arthur was blanketed in the soft grass and faced the morning's gentle origin. He seemed at peace, despite his being left to fester in this lonesome place. What was left of Arthur fed into the earth now, mostly gone to rot or the animals, and he tried not to look too closely above his collar. There was blood on his blue shirt, splattered down from coughs he assumed. There were teeth marks on his coat, one sleeve ripped from a particularly determined animal. The insects mostly had taken over his body, scattering as Charles gently nudged one arm, backing away at the too soft give of the sleeve, spongy and bloated. Plants had grown thick around the nutrient-rich body; flowers, weeds, and nettles framed him.
But he didn't lay naturally, limbs at odd angles for having laid down or chosen to be where he was now, and any marks through the brush that would tell him whether or not Arthur had been drug along the ground were long gone. Two wounds stood out the most, bullet wounds in his chest, ones that hadn't stained his clothing with blood. Most signs of any violence were grown over with new life by now or washed away by the rain, and Charles wished desperately his own feelings could have met the same fate. So easy it was for the land here to seem to forget, to move on and continue life. Anger flared for a moment before he took a deep breath, staring out over the view he hoped Arthur had been able to see as he slipped away. The forest swayed in the breeze, birds sang, he was sure hundreds of animals went about their lives completely unphased by the tragedy that had unfolded here.
Charles stood and allowed himself a moment, fists closed tight and his jaw clenched to the point of gritting his teeth. It wasn't fair he was left alone to pick up the pieces of the gang's fallout, stitching together what they'd torn to pieces in the end. Or, at least the parts of it left to be mended. He'd buried Grimshaw the day before and spent the rest of it finding his way here from the hollow where their last camp had been left to rot away. While most of it had, he'd managed to scavenge a spade and pickaxe, two things he needed rarely enough on his own to justify packing around. As rusted as they were from the months of spring rain, they were still sturdy enough to serve their purpose. Arthur's wagon had still been in the hollow, most everything was, but prized possessions he knew the other would have come back for eventually had been left to fade away.
Charles had expected to come back to a body, in some shape or form, but not someone so beloved laid bare like this. It ached him to leave Arthur behind for now, but he was woefully unprepared to have to move him. It felt wrong to bury him here where he'd passed in such a horrible way, to put him in ground tainted by pain and bad memories, but there was no way to move him with the meager supplies he carried along on horseback.
Falmouth waited patiently for him at the foot of the mountain, wary of the corpses in his shape nearby and seemingly generally uneasy. He was a fickle horse, a far cry from his calm Taima, left with the Wapiti in solidarity and a promise to return someday soon. There was no time to hitch a wagon, and he had taken extra canvas along, originally to pitch a tent if the weather finally broke but now he was pondering other uses for the length of cloth. There was enough to half it, laying on length out beside Arthur and eventually covering him with the canvas. He began to wrap Arthur in his new shroud, as carefully as he could considering his state. The nettles pricked at his arms as he worked, their gentle brushing quickly turning to insidious stings, leaving welts in their angry wake. It burned, but Charles did his best to ignore the stings, the pain of disturbing the plants so much less than the hurt inside. He gagged at the stench, cold guilt panging in him at something that seemed so disrespectful, but there was no helping it.
Working late into the afternoon, Charles ended up having constructed a litter with more of the canvas and two sturdy pieces of thick branch, returning up the crest of the mountain to gently settle the body onto the makeshift stretcher. Falmouth fussed as the litter was tied down to the saddle, uneasy with such a loud and heavy thing dragging along the ground behind him. Charles set out towards the lake he'd passed coming here, taking their journey at a walk and using the time to ponder over his current situation.
He'd taken them both past the lake late in the afternoon, stiff in the saddle as they walked along down the mountain towards a haven Charles wasn't sure existed yet. Somewhere nice and facing the sunset, secluded and unlikely to be found until expansion eventually crept up the mountain years from now. Arthur had always said he felt at home in untamed places, away from people and settlement, and it only seemed right for him to be given a permanent rest in such a place.
They wandered until he found it, a semi-secluded spot off the path and nestled near the edge of a slight drop off, overlooking the great ravine near the Bacchus bridge. Short work was made of unpacking and hiking up the hill, meandering until he settled on a place, breaking ground in an oddly unceremonious fashion.
Charles wanted to scream, to loose his frustrations up to the sky and be done with them. He wanted to cry and salt the earth that would soon lay heavy over the only person he'd grown close to in his adult life, but such sorrow would be unbecoming to a long late grave. A grave no one had come back to dig for him, despite knowing where he lay. Where was everyone Arthur had ever loved during his last moments? Charles cursed himself for not being there, either. For convincing himself Arthur might just pull through like he always had. In reality, he couldn't sit by and watch him fade away any longer. But now, interring his own heart in the ground, he was faced head-on with his mistake and the untimely death of Arthur Morgan.
The spade in hand struck the ground with increasing fervor as he thought, lost in his anger and boring a hole into both the ground and his heart in equal measures. Where was everyone? Who else had left him here, alone and cold? He had, and would have to come to terms with that, but who else? Hollowness struck him after the shock and anger had passed, worked from him through the spade he clutched tightly as if he might collapse into the grave himself without it.
His forearms still burned with the stings from the nettle and now tired from work, brushed with dirt here and there, scratched from the bushes and rocks carrying the litter up the hillside. Exhaustion shook his frame as he climbed from the grave, covering the short distance between it and where the litter lay, gathering himself before dragging it back. Lowering the body and litter into the ground was far more taxing than he was expecting, and it took everything Charles had left not to drop him. The body settled into the shallow grave with a finality that threatened to make him sick, the rope going slack as he dropped it and slumped onto the ground.
Curling onto his side he faced away from the open grave, uncomfortable over the scattering of stones and sticks, but too tired to move any further. It was quiet up here, away from trees and any large bushes for the animals, but it was a peaceful quiet where noises were present but far away. There was a road nearby for company, but not close enough to be disturbing. It was a good place, he reaffirmed, brushing a hand through the grass and listening silently to the afternoon birdsong.
The sun hung heavy in the sky by the time he arose once again, hauling to his feet and retrieving the spade. The earth was replaced where it'd been torn up, creating a mound on top where it remained displaced by the man buried beneath, settling heavy over the resting place. Charles simply dropped it to the side when he was finished, trudging down the hillside once again to gather his horse. They headed south away from the grave, into the thicker forest where it would be safest to set up camp for the night, sheltered by the canopy and close-quartered trees.