A Year of Stories (Collection Four)

Four Bullets in my Gun

There were four bullets in my gun

On the day the Strangers came,

Shadow eye'd and hollow voiced,

Never giving me their names,

But they told me they were dangerous,

at least to one like me.

"Four bullets in my gun," I said,

"How dangerous could you be?"

The first was like greased lightning,

a flash and then a whirr,

A sharp blade from sharper angles,

movements ending in a blur.

He was quick, but I was quicker,

Trigger pulled from on one knee,

Three bullets in my gun,

Three Strangers to set free.

The second was like a bear,

Fists the size of mountain tops,

Struck me hard about the shoulders,

So very hard I nearly dropped,

But he fought me much too close,

And that Goddess luck was in my hand,

And now two bullets in my gun,

Another stranger couldn't stand.

The third was sly and cunning,

gone before the second fell,

A Shadow hidden in the shadows,

A silent serpent in the Fell.

I stalked him all that night,

Through bushes, brambles, branches, trees,

Found him hiding in the rushes,

And let my bullet free.

There was one bullet in my gun,

When all the smoke had cleared,

But no Stranger for its home,

Lost his nerve, like all who've dared,

To hunt me to this hilltop,

For my magic or my gold,

For a faerie with a gun,

is doubly dangerous to behold.