Fragments Gallery
The Messenger
A black cloaked rider rode swiftly through the night. The hooves of his horse beat steadily against the cold cobblestone road breaking the silence the late hour brought. Trees, barely visible in the moonlight, flashed past as he barrelled down the road. Occasionally at crossroads he would pass signposts with their spidery writing in another tongue. He couldn't read the text but it mattered little to him, he had no need of guidance. He knew exactly where he was going. He had been here many times before.
The few people around here who had seen him figured he was a stranger in these lands; but he didn't see himself that way. He had been traveling these woods long before the people had laid down the first stone of the road. When he had first set foot in this forest it had been untouched by human hands, completely wild. Over the years that had changed as humans had moved through, building their roads and settlements. In spite of the years gone by he still remembered those untouched woods. He missed those days.
In spite of his history with the forest the people could still only see him as an outsider. Admittedly it had been a few years since he had needed to return so he was not surprised at their reactions. In fact he had anticipated it. With their short lifespan only the oldest among them could remember his last passing. That was his curse, he would never be known by any people. The only way he would become known was if he found a place among their legends.
He had accepted his fate long ago when he became the messenger.
A strong gust of wind pushed back his hood revealing his head. The only skin that could be seen was a small band around his green eyes; the rest of his face was wrapped with thick black cloth. His hood was only down for a moment before he pulled it back over his head, this time tucking a portion of it into his face wrapping so that it would not blow back again. His cloak caught the wind and fluttered behind him, beneath him the buckles on the saddle shook.
Motion from ahead caught his eye but he relaxed as he identified the form. An old farmer stared blankly at him from the side of the road as he rushed past. The man was old enough that he might have been a teenager when last the messenger had ridden through.
The rider turned off the road onto a faded goat trail. He was growing close now. The surrounding trees weren't cut back and trimmed like those along the road had been. Branches lashed out of nowhere as he rushed headlong between the trees on the narrow path. The branches scraped across the thick cloth which he wore and they grasped at him as he passed. He barely noticed. He just kept his head down and eyes on the path before him. He had seen worse thickets.
It wasn't long before a solid wall of rock appeared before him in the distance, barely visible through the trees. He didn't reduce his speed as he approached and instead let his mount guide him. An old cave became visible in the cliff before him as he drew near. One moment the cliff had been solid rock and the next the cave had shimmered into view. The rider dismounted and knelt, head bowed, before the entrance to the cave.
"Speak rider," The voice which emanated from the cave was deep and commanding.
"They are coming master," the rider's voice was husky as he responded.
"Very well rider. You know what to do," rumbled the voice from the darkness.
"Yes, of course Master."
With that he rose and mounted his horse. The beast sprang into motion carrying him swiftly back down the trail.
He had another message to deliver this night.