Death Throes of the Sun

The footpath through the trees endlessly narrates the life of its followers as they travel down their long road to towards the destination.

Slowly the trees grew menacing as the branches appeared spectacular against the death throes of the sun. The old grey pony swished its tail as the beautiful young man sat astride, gazing forward with clear brown eyes, full of depth and melancholy for the one whom he had lost to the trees not so very long ago. The bandits with their master bore no sign of unease or grudge against their position. The eerie masks they wore shone a splendid white among the dull grey of the bark that surrounded them. On and on the weary travelers followed the path, yet all the time conscious of the dark that was creeping through the undergrowth behind them. The beautiful man, fleetingly once saw the remnants of his love, the fiery scarlet cloak that ran delicately though the trees to the field yonder. Yet when he looked again, all he saw was a faded slip of burgundy linen caught on a branch. His broken soul wept inside for the injustice that had been done. On they trudged into the realms of the unknown where the mist fell into smoky trails around them, rising sleepily as the pony disturbed some carcasses of leaves. The brown eyes gazed upwards to the cloudy sky, already observing the risen moon. He sighed a melancholy sigh.

The misfortune and tides of woe that had befallen the group had become too much and now they had to leave. Outcasts among thieves, barren among the bandit tribes, alone with what possessions owned on their backs. He solemnly gazed at the masks beneath him, each with the hallmark of their trade, hiding the scars that marked the individual from another. His own face clear with no mask. This was all he had to play for and all he could use to play. He knew when he reached his destination that the time would come to be judged. But that was not yet. The pony ambled on, content to go at her own pace. The company kept walking, in rhythm with each other, all looking straight ahead they rode towards their destiny.

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