Gun Culture Chapter 6
"The bastard stands there, across the field," A voice said from behind. My horse twitched a little, but she was well trained. She was painted with the same blue paint as my own face had been adorned with, a symbol that she was as blessed as me by the gods. The blue does not rub from our faces and the solace does not erase easily from our hearts. It's the true meaning of blessed. I risk a glance backwards at my father, the leader of our army. He is watching me, arrayed spotlessly in all...