The Lone Rider

The lone rider stared down at the message secured in his gloved hand after convincing his reluctant horse to cross the small stream. He was uncertain of the words scribed on the elegant piece of parchment, but fear toyed with the breakfast he had purchased at the inn before he began his journey this morning nonetheless.
Life as a correspondent during times of war lacked nobility and reverence, however one’s life always managed to hang in the balance regardless of whether one took up a long sword and stood amongst the other soldiers of the battlefield’s front line. He was the front line and he was alone.
The rider reached a hand down and gave a gentle pat to his horse’s thick neck. The beast no doubt sensed his apprehension and proved it was more than willing to abandon their charge at the rider’s request. How easy would it be to give a sideways tug to the reins and send them riding off into the vast openness, as far from the war as possible. As the rider grabbed hold of the leather straps with both hands once again, a rumble broke over the tumultuous sky. The gods had weighed in on the matter and only a fool would refuse their counsel.
The rider shifted in his saddle and pressed his knee into the muscled side of his travel companion. With an accompanying loud click of his tongue, both horse and rider rode towards what the latter prayed would not be their end.

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