The Quarrelsome Girl
by Rob Morris
For ten score those Horsemen rode, through deserts vast and wide, sighting few sites and fewer souls still. They grinned to see this, yet their grins were more masks than their masks.
"For I am Pestilence, and think this dust bespeaks a moisture-eating plague! Oh, that we should reduce feeble men to this low measure."
"For I am War, and think this wind blows past all the things that I have ground up, in battles I have fought, and battles I have caused. Yes, the last battle has been fought, and are we not the victors."
"For I am Famine, and think that this is what the world will be, after every last son and daughter of Adam has passed into my nigh-infinite gullet!"
"For I am Death, and I am in every grain of sand that tears and bites, and in the wind that robs all water, and that I took away all the people in the cosmos proper, though they fought heartily."
Finally, though it would earn her another painful death, the slave-girl spoke from the back of Methos' horse.
"Well I say we've been wandering blindly for 200 years, and that we should stop and ask for directions!"
