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The Bolder Tartan rule, ok

January 10, 2017

Derna Asumpta Travillian lies camouflaged in a sniper’s hide up an oak tree trying hard not to move for five minutes. After five minutes, she does a three sixty degrees pan from a birds nest. Picking off members from the security forces is not every woman’s idea of the good life at fifty something. To relieve herself, she takes a piss from a squat position, like her male colleagues. Fermanagh her rustic mare, releases her bladder below also each time nature calls without as much fuss. She spits spent gum down at her for the hell of it. It feels like early spring though like last night, snow is to return by evening. She remembers as a child riding in the same fields: Greener then, unlike today though still green apart from tracks of larger Fergusons under patches of thawing ice. Birds sqawk in the scope taking flight. She bites a quill feather between her teeth, which helps her focus. It means going through with her contract and no turning back. She made the sign of the cross on her forehead and chest, saying a few words to Mary before gratling, then spat.

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