The Courier

Tree-boughs and dangling lichen caught and clung as his gelding raced on; Kir ignored it all, focused on the half-weedy trail and the goal ahead --

Not far now, not far now, not far now -- the words became a mantra in his head, one that he dared not gasp aloud --

Was that a balehound howl behind them? A silver horn?

Ahead lay the last bridge and then, the landfort -- if it stood, if it survived --

No. He'd deliver the Grey's missive.

He would.

🐈 go back ~!