The crickets were beginning their evening song. The golden forest light was fading into a grayish dusk. The hoof beats were steady like a native drum. A dark shadow clung to the back of an all white horse.
From a distance he may have been mistaken for a bundle of supplies, strapped hap-haphazardly to the back of a magnificent horse. This was no satchel of knick-knacks though. This was our hero Rovan, and he was close to death. His horse Sesame was his only hope for survival. There was no better horse for the job.
Sesame could feel his masters strength fading with every gasping breath. He could feel the weak heart-beat, stutter, and threaten to give up hope. Running too fast and rough could mean certain death. Any time lost could be a mistake.
The path led straight to the closest village. If he followed it straight, he could have help in an hour. If he ran through the swamps, he could be there much faster. But if he ran through the swamps, he could risk an attack. The men of the swamp lived by no laws. Many men have entered, but not all have returned.
Rovan gasped for air, the decision was made. Sesame bowed his head and veered to the right, leaving the safe path for the swamp and the night. The sludge slowed them down to almost a canter. The darkness was threatening to take the last light. The sound of the hoof-beats were no longer alone. Another horse was coming, and it was gaining on them fast.
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