The Fallen

Ah... one of my favorites. I adore equines, as if it were not obvious, and I had the idea in my mind of an equine running through the woods. So my mind went a-writing. Heh... that seems to happen quite a bit. Clearly death is also not a sombre thing or an evil thing to me either... never has been and probably won't ever be. It plays like a little movie in my head which is probably why I like it. I also realized that I didn't like thinking up names in 2003. This content is © copyrighted to Ashley Langdon a.k.a. Eve Reaper 2003.

The beating of hooves thrashes the damp earth. The fallen leaves of autumn quietly rustle in their wake. The black feathering dances wildly around the four black hocks of the stallion as he pummels the ground furiously. His legs strain against the sheer effort but he continues unabated. He snorts to the rhythm of his hoofbeats, his head held high and rigid in pride. He tosses his head back and leaps into a faster stride. His coal black mane whips uncontrollably behind him. He cries out maniacally; a deep, demonic scream of defiance. Only one may ride this nefarious steed and her soul is as damned as he.

She is covered by a red, velvet cloak draped over the equine's hindquarters. The hood shadows her eyes leaving only her matching red lips in the light. Her hands hold the reins tightly moving with her horse's head, covered by black velvet gloves. The only other visible part of her are her black leather boots. Her steed is a coldblood with long legs and a hotblood's spirit. His muscled body glistens with sweat but his stamina is hardly moved. His enormous black eyes glance around at the scenery as it flashes passed them like a dream. His rhythmic strides cover miles and miles of barren earth.

The dark autumn-dead trees, twist and reach for the abyss above. The white clouds blanket, what would have been, the early morning skies. The atmosphere is lifeless and cold but she rides on. Despite the frivolous pace the two have been running for an eternity, the black shadow of a stallion does not tire. He flies passed the trees, weaving and seemingly dancing without effort. She is perfectly balanced atop his back and she let's go of the reins; to demonstrate her bond to him to the crows in the branches and to the sky and the earth. She extends her arms towards the oblivion above her and tosses her head back as the stallion leaps for the heavens. Her hood falls back revealing her porceline doll-like face. Her visage is powder white and without a mark. The black-purple rings around her eyes highlight their dark blue color. She stares up at the sky longingly and time seems to slow. She is lost in what she sees in the clouds. Her light brown hair, loosely falling over her shoulders, sways in the wind created by her equine. He turns in circles, walks a few paces and then turns again; dancing at a soft trot. She regains her senses and looks towards the horizon ahead of her.

The mist eerily creeps out from the thick forest of trees ahead of them and at this sight, they stop. The pair looks ahead passed the fog, passed the woods, at where their destination lies. The stallion stands quietly, ears alert and head high. She throws off her cloak and it catches in the wind carrying it into a tree. She pulls off one glove by the index finger and then the other discarding both to the ground. Her eyes never leave the point of purpose. Without smirk or grimace, she stares unblinking at this unseen mark. She runs a bleach white hand down her neck, like something burning hot has run down her throat. She cringes as she sinks her own black-painted nails into her own flesh. She whispers a small growl.

Slipping down from her mount, a wind slithers by stirring her black velvet skirt so that the slit may reveal her knee. The fishnet nylons that cover her legs only highlight her lack of skin color. She takes notice of the black leather corset so tightly set around her as she takes a deep breath. Unlacing the ornate saddle, she slides it from the stallion's back to the earth then pulls herself back onto her mount. She bows her head and pats her stallion's neck. Tenderly, she leans over and slips his bridle off to the ground and he is free. She takes hold of his mane and stares ahead once again. He bows his head and then abruptly, without warning, tosses it back and bolts in a furious gallop. He runs fluently in spite of the overworking stride that he wrecks upon himself. They run together as one into the night until the sky goes black with only the silver-white orb, the moon, illuminating their path through the wilds and through the mists. The crows and ravens look on silently, awe-struck as they run to the ends of the earth.

The stallion bounds one last time to the edge of the cliff and springs from its edge into the abyss below. She lets go of his mane as they soar through the air, thousands of feet above the jagged rocks below. He lets his body drop in mid-jump and they plummit to their Death. No cry echoes from the fallen, only the scattering of bird's wings can be heard shattering the night's silence. Their pain is over, finally at rest. A lone crow perches on a branch, peering down at the mangled corpses of horse and rider with placid smiles and dead eyes. The crow calls to the moon and takes the wing.