The night was calm. Too calm. A swamp of mist was steadily flooding a field of crops and hay, as well as the neighboring dead and dying forest; the Western Woods. The amount of moisture became so great, that it finally expressed the grumbling of several thunderbolts. Bleating of sheep could be heard as several clusters of livestock hustled from the Woods and through the fields. Soon after another blinding electric crackle and strike of lightning, the thundering of heavy hooves and the toughened whinny of a warhorse was heard through the blue veil of the night.
Astride the galloping steed was the Hessian mercenary. The wind did nothing to help his already tangled tousled pitch-black hair. His electrified blue eyes searched hungrily for his target. It didn't take long for the Hessian to find what he was looking for. Not far off, in a pathetic shriveled garden, was a young woman shrouded in a dark cloak. She was crouched amongst the dead vegetation, digging in vain for any potential tubers in the clumped soil, a chipped china bowl beside her for findings.
Hearing the neigh of Daredevil, she whipped up her head. What her eyes perceived, was a little more than bone chilling. Suddenly forgetting her task, the girl abandoned her patch, climbed over the wooden fence that caged most of the lonely plot and cottage, and started to run for what her life was worth.
As the Hessian neared the wooden fence, his horse Daredevil sped over the barren garden, his heavy hooves crunching down on the ceramic bowl, crushing and scattering its few contents. His sturdy legs kicked up clods and demolished rows. The garden and its meager crop was ruined.
As Daredevil ascended over the log fence, the air from the jump hurled itself at the Hessian's cloak, billowing it out like a pair of bat's wings. Whatever clouds had been blown across the moon to shroud it, were shoved aside as milky blue-silver fingers reached down to stroke the Horseman's black armor. It was a truly demonic sight.
In the Woods Isabelle darted through the trees, her eyes flashing for any hope of escape: a random cave, a gulch to jump in, a hidden hollow, anything!
"Agh!" She panted in dismay.
Branches as thin as whippets seemed to weave themselves into a web of stinging whips whose sole purpose was to deliberately slow her flee by grabbing at Isabelle's clothes and hair, and clawing her face. Sharp pebbles and thorny broken twigs bit at her ankles and feet. Instead of slowing his chase, branches and roots recoiled and shrunk away from the Hessian in fear. With every pounding stride, Daredevil was getting closer and closer to Isabelle's sprinting figure.
Within reaching distance, the Horseman stretched a gloved hand to snatch Isabelle. Right as his gloved fingers closed around a multiple of gather of folds of her dark cloak, Isabelle slipped on a stack of wet leaves and she tumbled. For a brief moment her cloak choked her, releasing a guttural 'hoik" from her gullet as the ties ripped. Suddenly all the Hessian gripped was a bundle of dingy wool. Isabelle hit the ground with her arms splayed. Daredevil slammed his heavy hoof down on Isabelle's left forearm, skillfully snapping the bones. With a squawk of pain, Isabelle scrambled up and fled in the opposite direction.
The Horseman expertly turned Daredevil around riding Isabelle down. Isabelle clenched her jaw, trying with every fibre in her body not to stop, scream bloody-murder- from the excruciating pain her nerves were sending. The pain in her arm was so engulfing, Isabelle failed to notice her slowing pace nor the Horseman rapidly approaching.
Out of the blue, a black armored, gloved arm whipped out and snaked itself tightly around Isabelle's corseted waist, yanking her off the ground and slinging her over the saddle in an inverted V. Riding off, the Hessian smiled a sharp smile and his unorthodox eyes gleamed with satisfaction. His target was obtained.
'Owowowow.' The rhythmic pounding of Daredevil's hooves on the hard cold ground of the Western Woods drowned out Isabelle's whimpers as her arm flopped at an awkward angle against the damned horse's rippling flank. With every flop, a wave of excruciating pain ate at Isabelle's shattered arm. It felt as if a thousand hell dogs were gnawing at every particle of her left forearm.
Whilst the Horseman steered his mound his undead mind wandered. His gloved hand rested on the small of Isabelle's back, steadying so his target wouldn't slip off. But even with his gloves, he could feel the delicious fear and pain radiating in warm waves off his prize's fragile body. Isabelle's chocolate locks had been previously swept into a hasty twist, and as she was fleeing from the Horseman, her hair unfurled from it's knot; now it streamed from her skull like a flag, cloaking her face and gleaming in the shards of moonlight that dared to show itself through the distorted and blackened branches of the Western Woods.
The Horseman felt tempted to stop Daredevil and take his prize's innocence—if she still had it-right now on the chilly earth, when a nicker from his ghostly steed stole his attention. They were in front of the Tree of the Dead.
Isabelle's labored sounds of pain were now quite audible, increasing his stimulation by the second.
"Huh?" Isabelle craned her neck to see what the cursed horse had stopped for. Facing them was a soot-coloured, distorted, and monstrous-looking tree. She shuddered involuntarily.
'It looks like it wants to gobble me up.' She thought.
The sounds of gurgles and squelches fed her fears as an opening unraveled itself, releasing rivulets of blood, its fingerlike twigs and roots curling and uncurling invitingly. Daredevil backed a few paces, before lunging toward the gateway. Isabelle screamed as the sickeningly warm heads and blood muscle like sides touched her face, arms, and bare feet, greeting her to an unknown hell.