Sharp and dangerous.
That's what you think when you hear about them.

"They'll **** you quicker than you could blink"

"You'll hear the soft ****** of charms, spurs, and then it's over"

"The gunslinger- now he's straight from hell, no one could out draw that man, no matter what gun you have"

"I've always heard you had to watch the swordsman, he's like a ghost, never know where he'll be"

Now, I knew next to nothing about them.
Everyone they visited usually ended up dead.

Hard to confirm.

Standing here and looking at them though...

These soft men, all smiles, joking, relaxed.

I don't know about the stories but they're sharp and dangerous alright, etching their mark on my heart.

They aren't known for asphyxiation, but they sure stole my breath.

Where has she gone?
All the others are in line,
Mother bear knows.
Three there,
Two here,
One down,
But she is missing.

An inquiry goes through
Over channels
Fierce and loud
Because one isn’t lining up
And it’s that one.

“Tariq is down, hold on” she says
Fervidly praying, breathing heavy
And there she is.
Anywhere but where she should be.
So easy to find, far too easy.

Swearing, scolding
No time for kindness,
Lost, another child lost
And another may be lost,
The most precious one here.

Scathing scoldings go ignored
Too naive, too proud
A child hoping to **** death
Though she calls that barbaric.
Reformed, remade, reborn
But never killed.

And there’s another,
Another cub but not hers
Carelessly walking on,
Not aware of the foe in his midst.
Of her child, the fool.

But she notices, thank God,
But she freezes up, **** God.
Frozen, still, just as feared.
No gun in hand
Shaking, shivering,
Breathing so hard.

“Don’t hesitate,”
The cry goes through
But this too is ignored.
A gun in hand at last
But unused, unfired
Shakily held with weak grip.

Yet a shot rings out.
Another notch for the rifle
And another cub protected,
The most precious one.

He’s fallen and she’s fallen
Him in death, her in shock,
And again the cry is made
“Don’t hesitate”,
And again it fails.
For she’s truly a cub,
Naive child hoping, praying
Failing.

The mother rushes out
Cursing and pushing away curses
“We need her, Morrison” she says.
“I need her,” she does not.
Out from hiding,
Rushing, running, and, yes,
Praying.

Still so shaken,
Still too still.
She is grabbed,
Pulled, tugged,
Yanked up to her feet
And dragged away,
Hastily hidden.

Harsh words hurriedly spoken
As she is ****** down.
Not in anger but in fear
And tears flow
And the words stop.
Scowling the bear sits,
Fearing even now in the den.

Quiet falls
Deafening, painful.
Jack shut off,
Others mollified,
And she does not speak.
Only watches,
Watching, eyeing on hatefully,
Glaring as Mother carves another.
One more life, one more line
And she doesn’t understand.
Only judges quick and fast,
Ever the idealist.

And that stings more than death’s threat.

The world remembers you with a sense of fondness,
You were the hero they chose when they needed one most.
You would gladly give your life to restore piece
without ever endangering someone else's.

The team looked up to you, as well.
You were the commander they chose when danger was close.
You watched over them and they supported you
without ever questioning your orders.

Your friends loved you dearly, as did I.
You were the brother they chose when they were afraid.
For a lot of them, without you,
they wouldn't still be here.

But the one who remembers you best is the Reaper.
You were the one he chose when a soul was due.
People are starting to forget your name,
*we're all soldiers now.