An old oak tree tops the isolated hill. Leaves gone with the cold wind of change. At its feet, stone slabs rest weary upon scrub. The green drained from the earth. The howl of the wind echoes in the void here.
A solidarity figure rests high in a saddle. The dark clothes match the scene. The horse looks made of shadow. It’s head raised. It’s nose twisting to find a scent. The tail snaps side to side. Time had slowed. The pale Sun frozen in the sky casts a hazy glow.
A muffled voice shatters the scene. It’s origin distant. It’s direction approaching. The solitary man hears but fails to garner his attention. Horses show from the other side.
Three encumbered by three men.
The solitary man walks the shadow horse toward the tree. A left hand produces a single strand that arches gently over a branch. At its termination, a loop dangles.
Of the four men, only one regrets it’s killing time.