Of the three young men standing at the centre of the wall, Jamie was the first to fall. He fired as he went down, his finger slipping on the trigger of his bah, but the shot went wild - as well it might, when the man who'd fired it had just had half his head blown away. Spattered with his friend's blood, struggling to keep his balance, Bert raised the horn to his lips and winded it again, just as loud as before. He was still smiling and laughing, even with Jamie's blood hot on his skin.
Beside him, Alain didn't even glance over as Jamie's body fell to the floor. He ducked to the side, reloading as he went, and went straight back to firing. There was a burnt, bloody streak in his blonde hair where a bullet had grazed just above his ear, but he was still standing, his usually placid face hard and his eyes cold.
They were gunslingers with the heat of battle on them. Neither of them, not even Alain, would have had the words for the hard, cold exhilaration of the fight, when everything closed down to the gunslinger and his enemy, and nothing else mattered. They moved with a speed and a grace that couldn't be matched at any other time, but also with a cold, single-minded intensity which was almost horrifying.
Farson's men were at the wall now, smashing themselves against Gilead's defenders. The air was thick with screams and blood and gunfire. Cuthbert sounded the horn one more time, but the sweet, dreadful note died out halfway as an arrow smashed into his belly.
He staggered. Cursed. Laughed, louder than ever, as he found his footing. It would take more than that. There was fight still in him yet.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2015-02-27 01:46 am (UTC)Beside him, Alain didn't even glance over as Jamie's body fell to the floor. He ducked to the side, reloading as he went, and went straight back to firing. There was a burnt, bloody streak in his blonde hair where a bullet had grazed just above his ear, but he was still standing, his usually placid face hard and his eyes cold.
They were gunslingers with the heat of battle on them. Neither of them, not even Alain, would have had the words for the hard, cold exhilaration of the fight, when everything closed down to the gunslinger and his enemy, and nothing else mattered. They moved with a speed and a grace that couldn't be matched at any other time, but also with a cold, single-minded intensity which was almost horrifying.
Farson's men were at the wall now, smashing themselves against Gilead's defenders. The air was thick with screams and blood and gunfire. Cuthbert sounded the horn one more time, but the sweet, dreadful note died out halfway as an arrow smashed into his belly.
He staggered. Cursed. Laughed, louder than ever, as he found his footing. It would take more than that. There was fight still in him yet.