NOTE: Like I said, the quenas have got me. I’m drawn to the marauders, those horribles, a legion of them driving a herd of ponies, riding crazy, all bloodied and wearing the gear of those they’ve killed. I’ll send you a postcard every now and then.
Photo from Under Culture
From the Oneword ‘moon’:
The moon lit the way like it was day and from the backs of horses the outlaws drove the busted posse on foot, their spurs and boot chains glinting and clinking with their dusty shuffles. The smell of weak bones for lack of water rose up from the cooling ground and set the coyotes to calling for their packs. When the posse began to drop all desperate for dying, the outlaws stripped them clean and rode off wearing their wool frock coats and badges.