Pataniscas Satânicas

Pataniscas Satânicas

domingo, 1 de novembro de 2015

Sometimes when you fall... - Part III

Bone dry wind

He stands in the middle of the street, and tries to protect his neck from the biting gusts with his makeshift poncho, and yet his right hand never strays far from the holster.

The street is quiet now. No carriages, no hammerfalls from the blacksmith, no sound from the saloon.

Slowly, three figures walk up to the middle of the road, a few dozen yards away from him. One of them is slightly round around the edges, the other thin as a wire and with an evil twitch in the mouth, the third wears a black coat, and a black hat. 
They stand side by side, the black hat in the middle.

The folks in town had asked for his help. No one else they could ask. He had walked countless miles to get here, and he had countless more ahead of him. But he was honour-bound by the old code into helping as he could. So he did.

The strangers had shown up months ago, brought an ill wind and ill omens with them. Devil-dancers, the people called them, when they started killing. 
Now here they stood.

He cleared his mind and readied his hand. It would all be over in a matter of seconds.

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