Guardian

"Sorry to interrupt your stately pose," Harford said (grinning broadly). "Thank you, yes," Bevens retorted. "I was about to put my hands on my hips and start singing, 'This land is mine! Gawd gave this land to me!' when you arrived." "Well played," Harford replied, laughing. "Your dose of reality has arrived; Bridget is on the com and the toxicology reports are back on that murder/suicide in Folkestone." "I'll be right there," Bevens sighed. He stayed on the point for a bit longer, looking out at the white cliffs. Spreading his wings wide (light feathers glowing but still invisible to the mortal eye), the Guardian of Dover breathed calm into his troubled heart. "You really did give this land to me," he thought to himself, "and I will give all of the fucks I have and can." Harford watched Bevens turn and start his walk back to the car; the morning sun hit him just right somehow and you could almost see a halo around his head.