I saw him stride down form the south, I remember the Autumn leaves greeting him like rose petals cascading down onto a conquering Cesar. Astride a black steed he came to rest upon a hill at the foot of the field, in which we worked. He starred down at us with his black narrow eyes, his cheeks burnt from the snowy Arkem pass a winter back. His Armour was a deep black, scorched from the Arabian deserts, with the legend behind the man still imprinted in his Armour. His blade was tempered in Saracen blood, un-sheaved and still sticky with the near dry blood padding against his horses hind. Human molars littered his proud black main and a whip made of skin always was at his side. His army filled the tree line like black ants suffocating the land. We stood silent in the field. We knew not to flee. There was no point. They were on horse. Some time passed. Eventually Karuk straightened himself on the his horse and lead the sea of horses onward, Ever onward to Rome.
The Image I had in mind:
No comments:
Post a Comment