[ She doesn't look up, of course she doesn't, rather - she crooks her finger to beckon him to her. He will come to her, she will never go to him. She will never go to anyone, never answer to another. A slow draw, as easy as a finger on the trigger. The worn scarred fingers that hold themselves kind and careful to the horse, but are as easy to cleaving a man's skull in twain. ]
pushes them both over
[ She doesn't look up, of course she doesn't, rather - she crooks her finger to beckon him to her. He will come to her, she will never go to him. She will never go to anyone, never answer to another. A slow draw, as easy as a finger on the trigger. The worn scarred fingers that hold themselves kind and careful to the horse, but are as easy to cleaving a man's skull in twain. ]