A lone rider stood at the edge of a dense, silent forest; a white tree with weeping eyes that seemed to watch each movement. The horse rustles, unsettled and tired. Thin thighs press her on. She walks out on a glade, dusted with light snow; a pond frozen to a thin crisp reflecting the grey sky, the crying tree and hidden eyes, gleaming in shadows. Still, she pressed on, towards the charred bark and stone; a canter through ash and snow, toward the open courtyard. No sound came from the battlements, only hidden eyes watching. The lone figure advanced, the slight rattle of a steel helm in the shape of a fierce dog. A man emerged from a yawning hole in the wall. The horse shied, tossing her head, wary of the cold smell of death that surrounded him. But behind her was a pack of brothers and sisters more savage and a firebreather. Though ragged and hungry, she knew this was the end of the journey.
Hard eyes and a hard mouth watch intently; a scarred hand resting casually on a scabbard as he watched the rider dismount. Unheard footsteps padded through the snow, confidently closing the two stride distance between rider and death. The man spoke, and quick as lightning, the lone rider was upon him; arms around his withered chest, fingers gripping his black clothes; the sound of steel on wool. The horse remained calm; the sharp tinge of blood in the air she had been accustomed to was absent. A girl was finally home.