The name had no been said three times. And each one drove the belated grief deeper into his heart. It was difficult to mourn a person you met only after they had died. Even more difficult still to mourn two -- for Clove deserved some portion of his sadness. Didn't she? Sharpe watched the Career retreat by a step and he restrained himself from advancing. But -- dammit -- he wanted to claim that uncontested ground between the pair of them.
Violence bubbled in his veins, but it found itself without an outlet. For Clove sounded just a little frightened. Little enough to check his primal thirst for vengeance. Little enough to remind him of honour and of forgiveness. He dragged in a deep and ragged breath.
And then something clicked. Snapped. Broke and shuddered through his concentration. Without a second's loss, he hauled the rifle to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked familiarly back into his shoulder and the barrel cracked hot smoke and quick death. And although the bullet spun past Clove's head, he hadn't missed. For he hadn't been aiming for the girl. Instead, a Cultist footsoldier was thrown back from the shot's impact. Brains and blood sprayed a gruesome mess on the gymnasium wall.
The enemy had infiltrated his paltry shelter as he and she had stared each other down, not quite arguing. Sharpe amazed himself with how quick he'd responded to a threat he hadn't been watching for. Ganondorf's magic, he supposed.
"There could be others," he growled -- practically ordering the girl to his side. A girl he thought he might in fact now despise
no subject
The name had no been said three times. And each one drove the belated grief deeper into his heart. It was difficult to mourn a person you met only after they had died. Even more difficult still to mourn two -- for Clove deserved some portion of his sadness. Didn't she? Sharpe watched the Career retreat by a step and he restrained himself from advancing. But -- dammit -- he wanted to claim that uncontested ground between the pair of them.
Violence bubbled in his veins, but it found itself without an outlet. For Clove sounded just a little frightened. Little enough to check his primal thirst for vengeance. Little enough to remind him of honour and of forgiveness. He dragged in a deep and ragged breath.
And then something clicked. Snapped. Broke and shuddered through his concentration. Without a second's loss, he hauled the rifle to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked familiarly back into his shoulder and the barrel cracked hot smoke and quick death. And although the bullet spun past Clove's head, he hadn't missed. For he hadn't been aiming for the girl. Instead, a Cultist footsoldier was thrown back from the shot's impact. Brains and blood sprayed a gruesome mess on the gymnasium wall.
The enemy had infiltrated his paltry shelter as he and she had stared each other down, not quite arguing. Sharpe amazed himself with how quick he'd responded to a threat he hadn't been watching for. Ganondorf's magic, he supposed.
"There could be others," he growled -- practically ordering the girl to his side. A girl he thought he might in fact now despise