Three Days Ago…
Bang!
A loud shot pierced through the crisp, cold morning air. A thick cloud of gray smoke plumed from the long barrel of the smoothbore rifle. High up against the pale blue sky, a small, round clay disk shattered into a dozen tiny pieces. The broken clay rained down over the distant green field, completely destroyed.
"And that is twelve in a row!" Count Rutherford cheered loudly, lowering his hands to clap. He stood a few paces behind the shooting line, wearing a thick tweed coat and a flat cap to keep the country chill away. He smiled widely, praising his host. "A brilliant shot, my friend. Truly brilliant."
Lord Farrington lowered his smoking rifle. He rested the wooden stock against his hip and offered a small, deeply arrogant smile. He enjoyed the praise. He thrived on the admiration of lesser men.
Another nobleman, Viscount Colin, laughed warmly. He stepped forward and handed his own unloaded rifle to a waiting servant boy.
