It was a bloody affair, the day Arthur Morgan strolled past the unassuming farm and heard the shrieks. The sound of smashing pots, a woman in distress.

Arthur wasn't supposed to make any stops. Was asked to go into Valentie for recon, and come back to camp. Maybe nab a rabbit or deer for the spit, but definitely not risk his hide rolling into an unknown home to the sounds of a woman in diress.

But Arthur had been trying to right some wrongs lately. Trying to blot out some of the inky blackness in his soul and deliver himself to the pearly gates little less tarnished.

Kicking his heel into Boadicea, Arthur directed the horse towards the sounds that echoed through the forest. The sounds of a woman being hurt. Harmed. And badly, if her screams and garbled words of surrender were anything to decide by.

Stopping a hundred yard away, Arthur slipped off his horse, knowing she would plow the area until he whistled. Never going to far where she couldn't hear him.

Riffle over his shoulder and a hunting knife at his hip Arthur made the trek towards the farmhouse.

It was half rotten, floorboards squishing slightly as he found his way up the front porch, peering into a broken window. The sight before him hollowed his stomach out.

A young woman lay on the ground, her dress - or what was left of it - stuck to her back in rivots. The rest bled like ribbons, soaking her through. She'd been lashed, that was obvious, and the sight turned his stomach. Even moreso when he saw the man who did it.

An older man, probably the young woman's father, stood over her. A belt in his hand, his eyes hazy from alcohol and the burning feeling breaking someone fed a bastards soul.

The woman on the ground sobbed quietly, showing that she was still alive. Her soft voice cracked. "Please papa, I won't go. I'll never go. Just please stop." Her voice caught on a hiccup and she sobbed again, her back badly shapen.

"Ain't i tell you to shut you-" Before the man could finish raising his arm and shouting at the woman, Arthur raised his weapon and burst into the home, his heart thumping painfully as he saw the flash of relief, then horror on the small woman's face.

"-Hell are you doing in my-" the man stumbled to Arthur, raising his arm again.

Arthur didnt wait, one swift knock over the head and the man was unconscious. Not dead, that wouldn't do Arthur any brownie points at the golden gates, and he didnt eant to traumatize the poor woman further. Her head turned into the stained floorboards, silently praying and sobbing.

With as gentle a hand as he could, Arthur wrapped the small thing in his jacket, lifting her and helping her stand. With her directing him, he grabbed anything she needed from the house, shoving it in the saddlebags of Boadicea before hopping on himself and hauling the woman up against his chest.

He'd have hell to answer for back at camp, but Arthur knew he wasn't about to leave this angel in the hands of a devil like that man.

No, he was going to do whatever he had to for this one. He felt it in his bones.