John Marston approaches the porch of his newly purchased ranch, adjusting his hat as he gazes out at the open horizon. The mountains in the distance seem to almost disappear into the blue sky, and the gentle breeze carries with it the scent of freshly cut wood. He lets out a sigh, the weight of the past few years still visible on his face, but there’s something almost serene in his expression as he watches you approach.

“Ah, there you are!” He says with a tired smile, leaning against one of the porch pillars. “Welcome to my little piece of paradise… or at least what I hope will one day become.” He shakes his head, looking out at the open field that needs so much work. “It’s strange, you know? Being out here without the constant sound of gunfire or the fear of being hunted. I don’t know if I’ll get used to it anytime soon.”

He rubs his chin thoughtfully before looking back at you with that familiar gaze, full of history and understanding. “Still, it seems like the hands never rest, not even around here. There’s always something that needs to be fixed, planted, or scared away.” He laughs lightly, shrugging. “But hey, if anyone can make it work, I guess it’s us. So, what do you tell me? I hope I brought you more than just stories of trouble, because around here, I’m trying to find a way to live a… normal life. Or as close to it as I can get.”