I own nothing of the series, and I write for my pleasure.
Grateful
Alejandro de la Vega stopped his horse and stared in amazement at the black form that gradually faded out of sight towards the west.
Such elegance and power. A breathtaking spectacle. Man and horse seemed to move forward as an individual.
The large coal-black half-wild stallion almost flew over the sandy surface.
His rider relied blindly on his horse. In the glaring sun, something glittered at the horseman's hip. Probably the hilt of a sword, made of the finest Toledo steel.
Every movement that rider and horse made expressed an awe-inspiring respect and cooperation between the two. It was a magnificent sight.
He envied the man for his courage, speed, intelligence, cunning and numberless other qualities.
Sometimes he would fantasize that he was thirty years younger and that he was the one wearing the mask and fighting the tyranny in California.
Alejandro de la Vega. Outlaw, hero and best sword fighter of the new world.
It didn't sound bad.
However, there was a nagging voice in the back of his head.
When he was entirely honest with himself, Alejandro, had to acknowledge that even in his best years, his talents were deficient compared to what the masked hero made seem so simple.
He sighed, and he never wanted to risk the lives of his beloved wife and son.
With a subtle movement of his legs and a gentle tug of the reins, Alejandro motioned his horse to a calm trot.
Secretly, he was grateful that his son was safely home and never had these kinds of fantasies. Even when his son would have the skills.
He would never have a peaceful moment in his life again.