Fiona didn't learn to shoot wearing stilettos. When she learned to shoot, it was a different time, a different country. A pair of five inch turquoise t-straps were beyond her means of dreaming.

She doesn't think about it much. How the weather was soft and delicate, the grass grown over with golden gorse and purple heather, the whole a tweed of subtle weave.

Here she can wear open-toed shoes year round. The rain lashes down in fat drops in summer. Sundresses cling like a handsy date. The reasons she shoots haven't changed. The difference is the angle of the sun.