"Right," he says thoughtfully, doubtfully. "Right and wrong."
He gives it a second, feeling the wind blow his hair over his shoulders, listening inward to hear any chords that concept might strike in him.
Finally he huffs, looks back up. "You're very brave. But fairly young yet, I think. You'll learn."
His hand is a blur. Headshot, he thinks, almost dispassionately. It'll be over quickly.
He registers the noise, a terrible crunch beneath his boot, in the split instant between drawing and firing. It's the first time in a very long time that the usually seamless process of killing has been interrupted. Roland hardly notices.
It's perhaps the last hesitation Kubo's going to get, this moment where Roland stares down, horror stretching over his face, at the small and broken fingers under his boot. It's the last best chance Kubo might get to run, that endless, seconds-long moment when the remaining small fingers curled around that railing begin to slip very quietly off from it.
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He gives it a second, feeling the wind blow his hair over his shoulders, listening inward to hear any chords that concept might strike in him.
Finally he huffs, looks back up. "You're very brave. But fairly young yet, I think. You'll learn."
His hand is a blur. Headshot, he thinks, almost dispassionately. It'll be over quickly.
He registers the noise, a terrible crunch beneath his boot, in the split instant between drawing and firing. It's the first time in a very long time that the usually seamless process of killing has been interrupted. Roland hardly notices.
It's perhaps the last hesitation Kubo's going to get, this moment where Roland stares down, horror stretching over his face, at the small and broken fingers under his boot. It's the last best chance Kubo might get to run, that endless, seconds-long moment when the remaining small fingers curled around that railing begin to slip very quietly off from it.