Oblitus
It was a dark and stormy night. The wind raged and thrashed whilst howling with all of its might. The leaves had all abandoned their treetop homes to escape from the beatings. The tall, mangled trees hunched over to protect themselves from the sky's rage. It does them little good against the vicious beatings.
On that night of all nights a lone rider is out. His horse was a beautiful dark beast that didn't shy from at the fierce weather. The flashes of brilliant lightning that illuminated the chaos on the Earth shone on the horse's coat. The horse's coat was such a dark black that it gleamed blue in the light. The colour perfectly matched the rider's long cloak. The rider pulled on the reins and the horse stopped immediately. As the rider peered forward the light of a village became dimly visible in the distance.
The horse started walking again and the wind rushed to attack it to no avail. The horse didn't react even in the slightest of ways. Even the rider remained unharmed from the fierce strikes and vicious attacks. It was clear that these two were not a normal rider and horse. The wind shrieked and howled and tore at tree roots. Soon entire trees came away and flew at the rider and horse. No matter the tactics used the horse would always stay from danger. It raised its fine head and stared at its destination. The village foundations seemed to tremble in fear. The indomitable beast charged onwards leisurely and the attacks grew stronger and the time between attacks grew shorter.
Eventually the wind had tired itself and grown weary. The strikes became wearier and wearier. It seemed that the village had become semi-sheltered from the raging storm. The villagers, mostly fools, came out from their homes to watch the storm. It was these fools who saw what happened next. The storm sent out a final attack on the village before leaving it to relative peace. The rider and horse appeared majestically from the swirling winds. Both were still unharmed and untouched. However the sight that greeted the two fine creatures was one of carnage and blood.
Neither the rider nor the horse showed emotions. They strode further into the village. They maintained riding at their leisurely and unchanging pace. However, as they passed one house the rider tore at the reins. The horse stopped in its tracks abruptly and blood seeped from its mouth. The horse, regal and august, stayed as magnificent as ever as it ignored the torn flesh and blood in its mouth. The rider stared at that one house transfixed. The windows were rightly closed and the curtains were mostly drawn. Small slivers of light shone through. The edge of an old worn-down table could be seen. However, the rider's eyes were fixed upon someone that could not be seen.
The rider gave the reins a slight tug and the horse began to walk once more. Each hoof was lifted high off of the ground. It was as though the horse was dancing along the street. The rider, back straight, head facing forward and raised high was as eloquent as the finest horse masters of the land. Perhaps, to those who watched, he could have been a Torque - a race of the finest horse masters in the world. All Torque's could ride long before they could walk or talk. Horse mastery was in their blood and their horses were their prized possessions. All Torque horses were of the highest quality but the horses were never sold or given away. The relationship between a Torque and their horse was one of the greatest bonds ever forged. Some even said that love fell into non-existence next to the relationship of a Torque and their horse.
The horse reared its head and glanced back at its rider. The firm brown-black eyes were stern and gentle. It looked back to the front and changed its pace to a trot. The horse turned right and led them to an inn. The sign post had vanished, stolen by the wind, or taken down by the owners. If the owners had removed the sign as they wanted a break from work they had not succeeded. The horse stopped by the steps and the rider dismounted. He tore a pouch from the saddle and ventured in still wearing his cloak. The old faded green pouch was about to burst its seams with money and the owners rushed to serve him. Their little town had never been a particularly favoured destination. Not many people even knew of it and, despite wanting to rest, they leapt at the chance to relieve him of his money.
The rider glanced back at the open door to his stallion. The inn's owners fussed over him. The rider's dark blue eyes were strong and serious but they spoke to the horse who nodded its head. His adored beast was of great importance to him and he would not let harm come to his stallion. The rider turned back to the owners and let them fuss as they pleased.