Kronos squints against the harsh sunlight and scrapes dust from his teeth. Methos, as outwardly serene as he always is, calmly paces his white horse back and forth across the crown of the hill. He's always preferred spirited ones who seem to skip over the desert, hardly dusting a hoof before raising it again in a high-stepping prance.
Behind him Caspian snickers. His horse snorts and pulls against the reins nervously at the sound. "Tired already, brother? Brains fried by the sun? They're so tasty that way."
Kronos would spit if he had any saliva left. Instead he bares his teeth in a noiseless snarl. He has been walking ever since he'd clawed his way out of the shallow grave MacLeod's posse had dug for him, with neither rest nor water. His mind has slowed, but he is in no way tired. Kronos looks closer and sees it – the faintly discolored back corner of the local jail, pissed upon by so many drunkards it has become rotted and soft.
"Strike at dusk," Methos says. "The sheriff will be into his cups at the saloon, feeling safe because the keys jingle at his side. His deputy on duty will be easy to keep quiet. Once he's dead you can free the men without an alarm. The horses will be stabled after a hard day's work, and no one will look for them until morning. You can ride all night before anyone misses them."
As Methos said, so it will be. Kronos slides his blade into the back of the deputy and pries away the rear wall of the prison. The men scatter like flung chaff towards greener lands, laying a dozen false trails for MacLeod chase after. Kronos returns to the desert with naught but a blade strapped to his back and a stolen horse between his thighs.
Silas' laughter booms as he falls in stride next to Kronos, a strong chestnut horse of the line Silas has carefully bred for centuries surging beneath him. "Good fight, brother!" Caspian ranges ahead, his horse letting out a wild cry. Kronos stands to feel the wind stream past, reveling in the power.
Silas and Caspian race into the darkness of nightfall. Kronos turns towards his last brother watching it all from his dancing horse. This far away he shimmers like a mirage. Later, he will track Methos down and pin him writhing to the floor until he acknowledges the flesh and bone Kronos knows he has. For now he allows his brother to slip away on the breeze with a promise as ancient as he.
The Horsemen will ride again. In the meantime, Kronos turns his mount south.