He knew why they came. The red men came for the land, for the people and animals that walked upon it. They came for blood.

Connor had seen feuds between tribes over hunting grounds and the rights of way across them. That at least he could understand, for as tribes grew and food became scarce there would be competition. It was the way of the world that one group would dominate another to ensure survival.

But these men were more than a rival pack of wolves. Their motives were clouded by a very human greed. Both the red and the blue men wanted the land, neither willing to give way. They would grind each other into the dust, more content in knowing that neither side would have victory than to concede defeat. Connor had wondered if such a scenario would be preferable. Leave them to it, may they burn out and let the land belong to no man. But like a bonfire, there were sparks that could not be avoided if one strayed too close to the flames. He could still taste the wood smoke on the air, along with the bitterness born out of the desire for vengeance.

So there he stood, high above the men in red. Watching. Waiting. To his eyes the colour burned strongly, more than just their clothing. They shone like beacons in the gathering gloom as they stalked through the snow-laden trees.

They came with war cries on their lips, guns in their hands, and crosses over their hearts.

They had come for blood.

He would give it to them.