The Man in Black and Silver
Pebbles and small clumps of earth spewed from beneath the thundering hooves of the mighty stallion.
Small children and young housewives fled in fear as the powerful animal galloped through the little settlement. However it was not the horse from which they ran, but the rider.
Vacant eyes peered from under the rim of the dark leather cowboy hat, seeing nothing but sensing everything, black pupils that were alarmingly devoid of any emotion.
One hand gripped the reigns of his large, black steed, the other casually rested upon the hilt of his sheathed sword.
To some watching maidens, peeking through doorways, the rider may have struck a romantic figure. Sitting tall and proud, a moustache trimmed to perfection, his hat tipped at a cocky angle. He dressed all in black, the garments trimmed with silver. The man was, by all accounts exceedingly vain in his styling.
Then in a flash he was gone, cantering toward the horizon and the maidens where left with only their memories and their imaginations.
The forest was dark and the man in the black and silver was tired. Heavy eyelids drooped slightly over the coal black pupils. His horse had slowed to a walk. The man swayed a little in the saddle, the arm that had rested on his sword, now dangled by his side. The eyes finally shut and his head lolled from side to side.
He was brought sharply back to consciousness as an arrow whistled by his ear and thudded into the bark of a tall oak tree. Sudden anger at his temporary lapse in alertness made him dig the spurs of his black boots aggressively into his steed’s flank. The stallion, momentarily shocked by the goings on scrambled in the scree of the path, then finding its footing was off like a bolt, metal shoes causing sparks as they raced over the stones. More arrows whizzed by. One pierced his hat spinning it off; with the reflexes of a coiled adder the man caught it and set it back to its jaunty angle, over his dark curls. Feeling upwards, he found the arrow lodged in the leather and snapped it off, flinging the pieces into the surrounding vegetation. Sudden rage filled him, that hat was expensive. He whipped the reins round so that the stallion, now frothing at the lips, a wild glare in its eye, skidded and charged back the way it came. Drawing his revolver with lightning speed from the holster on his hip, he fired. The shots echoed through the forest, as did the screams of the bandits he hit.
The face remained impassive as he turned the horse again and continued his journey. No chance of falling asleep now, he was buzzing from adrenaline. He rode out the woods, pale moonlight illuminating the eyes of small animals that watched silently as he clip-clopped on by.
His face lightened considerably, the dark eyes gaining something of a twinkle as he neared the solitary bungalow. He rode up to the small, thatch roofed abode and jumped lithely from the horse. Stabling the animal, he rubbed it down gave it fresh water and hay. Then he entered his home. A small squeal erupted from his wife’s luscious raspberry lips. She jumped on him, bombarding him with a flurry of kisses. Then, chin on his chest, gazed lovingly up at him, a beautiful smile revealing pearly white teeth. Grabbing his hand she led him over to the armchair and pushed him down on it.
‘You’re late!’ she told him, hands on hips, lips pursed. He could tell, the fire was low in the grate and the dinner laid out neatly on the crisp white tablecloth was stone cold.
‘Better late then never at all.’ He argued, again that beautiful smile. Again she jumped him, nestling her head in his chest, so that raven black hair tickled his nose.
‘I’m just glad your back.’ She said’ her voice muffled somewhat by the black silk of his shirt.
‘Was it awfully dangerous out there?’
He glanced ruefully at his treasured hat, now hung on a peg by the door.
‘Nah, not really darling, same ‘ol, same ‘ol.’
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