There's a specific ache in my heart that eats at me every time I go into the Tumbleweed stables and see Silver Dollar, Branwen, Gwydion, Boaz and Ennis there.
Part of me knows it's just a fun bonus for the players to be able to buy some of the gang members' horses, but the other part of me aches because of how much the gang members loved their horses and aren't around to love them anymore.
There's always the fear of forgetting the faces of loved ones that passed away, but visiting the old camps as John and hearing the echoes of people he knew hurts in a different way.
John may forget parts of his brother, but he'll never forget his voice.
He'll never forget the voices of the people he once saw as a family, for better or for worse, he is haunted by these echoes of the past.
"Your friend, Mr. Van Der Linde, has ensured that any relations between us and the army are worse than any point in the last five years. I'm sure he means well, but matters are more complex than he understands."
After spending hundreds of hours playing as Arthur, adjusting to being John still takes me a while even on my second playthrough. I find myself asking questions then needing to remind myself that this is John now.
"Why did he say that?" It's not Arthur anymore. "Why wasn't he nicer about that?" It's not Arthur anymore. "He wouldn't say that" yes he would, it's just not Arthur anymore.
Sorry just thinking about how lovingly Charles talked about where he'd buried Arthur, the softness and somber in his voice, the way he reassured John that Arthur got the proper burial he deserved.
"It's where he would have wanted to be.. a pretty hillside.. facing the evening sun."