Athos awoke to the sound and feel of heavy breathing in his left ear. His hair fluttered around his face, tapped his cheek, and his jaw. He rolled from his side onto his back and looked at his horse, who raised his head. His lead tapped Athos' face and dangled toward the ground. "I think Monsieur Henri lied to me," he said, and looked at the black's large brown eyes. "Not only are you a drunkard, but you're an escape artist and I have a feeling you have more tricks within your arsenal."
The horse flicked his ears and waited.
Athos rubbed his face, raised his left knee, and took a deep breath. It was still dark, but the light of the moon had shifted and was slowly making its descent as the sun's horizon slowly glowed around the curves of the hillsides and the trees in the distance. The moon's fading glow cascaded across the ground and shimmered off the black's coat, the buds of the trees, and along the stone covered ground. The fire was out, and the meat Athos had placed upon a flat stone to warm, now forgotten, had been overcooked and lay shriveled in narrow strips. He pushed himself to a seated position, rested his elbow on his right knee, and yawned while he rubbed his face.
The mares continued to graze and he could hear the sounds of grass and weeds being ripped from the ground. Athos looked at his horse, who swatted his tail, and shook his head. His lead flung through the air and landed like a snake in the grass, hidden within the last summer's stems and grasses that in the weeks to come would continue to renew as spring rains and the sun's warmth created new life.
Athos rubbed his face, rested his elbows on his knees, and nodded. If he left now, he would be back in Paris within a short time. He stood, dusted off his backside, and then grabbed his horse's lead. He thought about names, Duff was not going to do. He quickly brushed the big black down and considered Cinder, Shadow, and Raven. All reflective of his color, but not his personality. Athos grabbed the saddle blanket, dusted the underside, and then quickly tossed it onto his mount's back. Then he reached for the saddle. He thought about the names of King Arthur's horses, but they all seemed too grand, too much for a gelding of unknown origins. Despite the horse's Friesian characteristics, the feathers on his legs, his heavy mane and thick long tail, there was something about him that was different, and that is what Athos focused on. He tightened the cinch, buckled the breast collar, and then ran his hand along the big black's shoulder.
They were back on the road before the sun came up. All four mares followed at a leisurely pace, and Athos ate a few pieces of dried fruit as they continued their travels to Paris. Spring would be wet this year, and the clouds began to encroach as the sun slowly made her appearance. The red sky cast a glow through the clouds and caused them to appear haunted. The trees looked like sketches of black ink against a red canvas. He could hear the barking of dogs in the distance and the bleating of sheep. Even in the darkness, he could see flocks of sheep move as they grazed on grass.
Athos took a deep breath and felt a knot in his stomach. The words written by Shakespeare suddenly haunted him as he remembered the line: Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd wreck to the seaman - sorrow to shepherds. He looked again at the red sky and nudged his horse's sides as they continued their journey to Paris.
