you know, come screaming down the arroyo, hands throwing cannonade, obscured by clouds of brimstone. just fucking shouting like you are at the pinacle of an army, even though you ride alone, lonely soldier. a vanguard of one, & the rest besides but you don't stammer as the hammers pound down with all the wrath of all the forges of heaven & pretty soon the creek bed is running with a river of red (& black, 'cause some of its yours, but you just keep shooting & shooting, mouth as wide open & flashing fangs as ever). by the time you slump over in your saddle, the berserker frenzy leaving you, you've done gone & killed 'em all (& the rest besides). & sure you got banged up a little yourself, a few nicks & scratchess & they got me ma's. but that pins & needles feeling creeping into your limbs is the sensation of a homecoming. topple to the ground little killer. you've done us proud.