The stranger trod merrily down the long dirt road. The matted black fur that covered his body managed to keep him warm enough in the chilly autumn night. His cloven hooves made a distinct noise against the ground. A dark, tangled main ran down his neck and stood out in every direction. His muzzle was adorned with a huge, unnerving grin. The teeth were gigantic and yellowed with plaque. There was no reason for him to be grinning as he did, but there was no reason for him not to be either. It was just who he was.
As he came around the bend of a cluster of oak trees, he spotted a pony pulling a load of apples. The stranger slowed as he neared, his golden eyes locked on the apples. It had been a while since he had anything to eat besides ditch-grass and forest roots. The pony slowed down as he spotted the stranger. He was not expecting to see anyone out here, especially at this time of night. He was also intrigued by the stranger's dirty, rawboned appearance.
"Evening," said the stranger. His voice was as dark an oily as his mane, and there was a peculiar accent to it. There was a pause as he waited for the pony to respond.
"Good evening," the pony finally replied. The stranger heard a wary tone in his voice, but he knew that it was because the pony was unsure of his bedraggled appearance.
"Those are some canny apples you got there," said the stranger as he took a step toward the cart, "Mind if I hae ane?" He glanced back over at the horse, who was backing away. The stranger saw that he had noticed his cloven hooves. The wary look on the pony's face had turned to one of suspicion and fear.
"I don't know," said the pony, "I should get going. I've got to be to Trottingham by morning." The stranger let out a sigh of disappointment, but kept on grinning.
"Trottingham, eh?" he said, "I'm frae west o' Trottingham. Beautiful country, if I remember it right." The pony seemed very reluctant to leave. The stranger merely let out another sigh. "Well then, I suppose ye best be on yer way." The stranger turned to leave, but just before he did he turned back to the pony.
"Good luck on your journey," he said. Just as he passed the cart, he gave it a small kick. An apple tumbled out and landed before him. Seconds later there was a sharp crack as the wagon's axel snapped in two.
The stranger continued his own journey down the lonely road. He scanned the distance with his yellow eyes, which glinted like two small moons on his coal-black face. At last he came to the top of a hill. He looked down from it at the valley that lay before him. Within it was a small town, one that looked like a very pleasant place to live. It wasn't quite as rustic as most towns he had visited, but it would do. Then something caught his eye. Just outside the town was a vast field of apple trees. He could smell the ripening fruit all the way from here. The harvest was eminent. The stranger looked up at the sky. The near-full moon confirmed his suspicion. His grin appeared to grow wider. The stranger began to trot down the hill towards the town. The wind followed him, knocking crisp leaves from the trees with a gentle rustle.