The heavy hoof of a trotting horse in a grove, the heart of a man, the sheath of a sword brushing against the flank of a lever saddle. It is a secret path, a smuggler's route. The storm fades and the sun shoots its last crimson rays through the damp leaves.
The rider strokes his ...The heavy hoof of a trotting horse in a grove, the heart of a man, the sheath of a sword brushing against the flank of a lever saddle. It is a secret path, a smuggler's route. The storm fades and the sun shoots its last crimson rays through the damp leaves.
The rider strokes his horse, steps onto the moor, and feels the sea that is not yet visible. Not far away, a thatched tavern where wood crackles in a fireplace. A few friends sitting at a table will laugh and tease him about his wild hair and bristly beard.
And his treasure is there too, and she will simply open her arms.