Bert watched her go, letting out a deep breath and closing his eyes. For a moment, he just stood there, until Alain came up and clasped his shoulder. Something wordless passed between them, and Bert nodded, turning back to face out over the plains.
They stood there together, the three of them, a tet without a dinh. The cigarillo in Jamie's hand burnt slowly down, until he dropped it and ground it under his heel, his face hard. Farson's men were closer now, close enough that the men on the wall could begin to make out individuals. The first row were muties, slow and shuffling, their skin a sick green. Beyond that, it was hard to see. Can-toi, taheen, and men merged into a great, dark mass, but the banners with that glaring scarlet eye... those were hard to miss.
Jamie raised his bah to his shoulder, and Alain unholstered his guns. Cuthbert looked between them, his heart feeling so tight and painful he thought it might burst, and took a deep breath as he unhitched Roland's horn from his belt. "Come-commala ka," he murmured, and smiled bitterly. "It's been a pleasure knowing you." Then, raising his voice. "Gunslingers! To arms! For Gilead and the White, for the faces of all your fathers... let's kill the bastards!"
The Horn of the Eld rang out sweet and clear, echoing off Gilead's damaged walls. Long and loud he sounded it, and as the thunder of gunfire began, the horn sounded above it all, a melodious, sustained note too strong for the throat that birthed it.
When he took the horn from his lips and began to fire, Cuthbert was laughing. It was hard and cold and wild, like the light in his eyes, but it was laughter nonetheless. "I'd like to see Roland wind it sweeter!" he shouted over the noise, and if there were tears in his eyes, well, they were only from that exertion. Could only be.
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They stood there together, the three of them, a tet without a dinh. The cigarillo in Jamie's hand burnt slowly down, until he dropped it and ground it under his heel, his face hard. Farson's men were closer now, close enough that the men on the wall could begin to make out individuals. The first row were muties, slow and shuffling, their skin a sick green. Beyond that, it was hard to see. Can-toi, taheen, and men merged into a great, dark mass, but the banners with that glaring scarlet eye... those were hard to miss.
Jamie raised his bah to his shoulder, and Alain unholstered his guns. Cuthbert looked between them, his heart feeling so tight and painful he thought it might burst, and took a deep breath as he unhitched Roland's horn from his belt. "Come-commala ka," he murmured, and smiled bitterly. "It's been a pleasure knowing you." Then, raising his voice. "Gunslingers! To arms! For Gilead and the White, for the faces of all your fathers... let's kill the bastards!"
The Horn of the Eld rang out sweet and clear, echoing off Gilead's damaged walls. Long and loud he sounded it, and as the thunder of gunfire began, the horn sounded above it all, a melodious, sustained note too strong for the throat that birthed it.
When he took the horn from his lips and began to fire, Cuthbert was laughing. It was hard and cold and wild, like the light in his eyes, but it was laughter nonetheless. "I'd like to see Roland wind it sweeter!" he shouted over the noise, and if there were tears in his eyes, well, they were only from that exertion. Could only be.