Where are you now, Cameron Fry? The world turns its lonely eyes to you....

Albrecht Durer

The horse slowly marched toward some imperceptible destination. All that went through its mind was the desire to gnash its teeth on some cruncy oats. The years of war and strife had not been kind to the quadriped. Its once lustrous white coat was now worn and unkempt, as if each of the tens of thousands of miles that its hoofs had seen had etched a miniscule burnish upon its skin. Now, like an ill-fitting coat, its skin hung ajar, leaving spectators to gawk in curiosity and shame. Still, somehow, the horse continued to meander forward. It was the steadfast devotion the horse had for its master that kept it going. Throughout the violence and the weariness, the master had always fed the horse and shown it affection. This knowledge and certainty of what lay eventually in the future pushed the drive of the horse. Yet, the exhaustion was inevitable. The horse tried to keep to rhythm of the hooves on the well-trodden dirt path constant, but everysooften a malicious root or capricious rock would force the weary stallion to adjust its path. Stay the course, the horse muttered to itself. (Now there are some that insist in this world that they can speak to horses and maybe even hear their faint whispers, this is ridiculously absurd, only horses can understand other horses, silly) Clipclopclipclopclippityopopop. The illucid song represented the wisdom that had etched itself into that equine brain over the years. Every obstacle, every charging beserker, even that hellacious sulfuric firestorm near Acre, the horse knew how to deliver its fare safely against those seemingly insurmountable odds. The battles and the voyages this steed had suffered and undertaken should have granted it notoriety on par with the mount of Alexander, yet alas there is no chronicler for the deeds of horses. As he meandered forward, the shuffling hooves still completing their task, the horse began feel an encroaching dark presence, nay two of them, seeming ready to envelop him in folly. Now if only the small, four leggedd nuisance that was accompanying them would stop running around his legs. It was getting difficult to continue without crushing the loathsome abberation.

It was a crisp fall afternoon in central europe. The scent of crisp autumn leaves mingled with the aroma of the freshly harvested hops. It was a great day to be a dog. And nothing was better than serving his master. The best was fetching birds and rabbits when they went hunting, because usually then the master let him have some of the spoils of the hunt. Though it had been a long time since they had been hunting. The landscape had change as well, there had been no birds that let loose a joyous song, and the rabbits were woefully skinny. Forests and mountains had given way to sand, more sand, and heat. There was little to like about this new place, and the dog was glad to leave it and return home. The only thing that kept him going was the presence of his master, whom he lived to serve and please. The increasing familiarity of his surroundings also lifted the dogs soul, almost as much as a soup bone. Yet, darting around the legs of the beleagured warhorse, the canine sensed that something was awry.

What a dumb dog, thought the knight, he is gonna get himself killed running around those hooves like that. It was only because the stallion was old and had survived countless battles that the rapacious playfulness of the hound had not startled the horse. With much regret the knight realized that this long and steadfast relatinship might have to come to an end soon. It seemed wrong to have an animal so valiant turned into an adhesive. This melancholy turned into trepidation as he sensed that there was something amiss in his surroundings. He pulled taut on the reins and the horse abruptly came to a halt. The dog needed no coaxing and took refuge beneath one of the stallion's legs, visibly shaking. The world stood still, the sun was swallowed by the moon, and all that was light turned into darkness. Two figures, one on each side of the path, arose in the gloom and snickered. There was no aid, the knight would have to face this task by himself. The pallid figure was excruciatingly skinny, yet his skin was pulled so taught that one could see every bone in his body. His eyes were dark and sunken, his face contorted into a macabre grin that seemed knowingly to have the endgame in its favor. In its left hand was perched an hourglass, framed by what seemed ivory, or was that bone? Only a few grains were left in the upper tier, and the hand which held the hourglass seemed poised to beckon the knight forward. The right hand grasped a scythe firmly, the knuckles ready to burst out of the skin containing them. There was to be a reaping, and it was up to the harvest to resist. A torn, tattered, and hooded black robe hung onto the maniacal frane. Whatever menace the first figure eminated was dimmed next to the vile putrescence of evil which was the second's aura. There was nothinh human about it except the two arms and legs it possessed, and it was only a similarity, not in form. The legs were that of a goat, and the hooves burned the very earth it touched. The torso was that of a wolf, and the arms were stolen from a mantis, though albeit surely one that did not pray. The head returned to the form of a goat, bleating out its curses from a forked tongue. The horns on its head as gnarled and crooked as the soul it possessed. Yet they still pitched their sweet songs, this devilishly macabre pair, yet the only honey was in the lies and falsehoods of their promises. Yet, somehow the knight was allured by these dastardly sails pitches. He was tired, and had he not stared death in the face a thousand times before. Maybe it was time to put down his lance and hisn convictions. The imaginary comfort of corrujption felt so warm......

I was at : 4308 NW 76 Terrace, Gainesville, FL 32606,