Before the Preist Enters, All Will Be Complete.

Adversary Readies for Assassination:

They gather themselves what is necessary for the early morning. Reaching for their saddles, they fix them to their horses. With their bullets, they fill their empty chambers, their side arms and shotguns in all. From the rainfall mid yesterday, the water has soaked into the earth leaving the ground soft and grim. Without words, all take turn in covering themselves and (their) horses with fresh mud. However, one man proceeds to pull his shirt out from under his belt and trousers. He reaches at his undergarments. What seems as sacrament to, maybe, dissipate the coldness from his body or to release building tension; he takes in a few moments, eyes closed, and then with a release, he pulls out a hand to wipes it against his right [brand name] boot. Others look overtly away to excuse themselves from the man with the liquor bottle in his left and a firm “grip” in his right. The man inhales; his back straightens and (he) gathers to walk towards his lift not five yards away. In approaching in turn, the man tucks in his shirt and walks forward, stumbling, towards the others while trying to fondling the auburn [glazed] bottle. Squatting down where his lift knee is opposite the ground and his right pivoting his stance (along with his right foot), the man lunges forward. His back is now arched and his arms are now spread across the pool of mud. Unbalanced, though otherwise smart, he manages to create a small mound by cupping his hands and pulling his arms inwards and back towards himself. His shirt, his trousers, his boot and skin are gummed in this muddied paste.

Dark as night as it is, the sun will rise in an hour, the “boss” snickers into the cold air.