I tasted the brass in my lips. Ever since our duel, we were fated for each other.

-"Miss Fiia, someone was in your tent."

I looked around, everything was in place, and all my rifles were neatly stacked.
-"My my, it seems old age is getting to you, my esteemed holy-man."
My fingers took the bullet case from my mouth and ensconced it inside my neckline, close to my heart, where it belonged. Where he belonged.

He did this mockery of a smile, it was an empty gesture, as teaching a lion to apologize.
-"Your bounded field."

I was a tad too old to be lectured, nevertheless, sometimes he would be useful.
-"What about it?"

He assumed this placed stance and refused to answer. He was fond of it, allowing him to humilliate his verbal sparring partner by themselves.
-"Then, pray tell, why do you have breadcrumbs trailing from the border of the tent towards your desk?"

My heart raged with outrage.
-" Who dares?!"
After checking my fridge, my soul returned to my body.
"Root above! The alcohol is fine...for a minute I feared the worst."
My eyes tracked the rug and saw some dirt on it. Moving it aside, I grasped the lid to my stash.
A boot stepped on my hand and my Dragunov poked the priest on the throat.
"You forget yourself. Our goals align now, man of the cloth, but no one, NO ONE TREADS UPON EDELFELTS!"

He wasn't even acknowledging the bayonet about to swish-kebab him.
-"Miss Fiia. You are stubborn, reckless, and loud beyond reason, but I never thought you dim-witted."
He pointed to a metallic sheen by the tent's edge.

My eyes strained and I saw it.
A grenade ring.
It could only mean one thing.
-"My beloved, you came for me."

The Holy Church's envoy, a well-respected and feared Executor, facepalmed.
-"My Lord, shuffle off my mortal coil. I beg of you."