The First Horseman 1
The night was heavy with the scent of blood and the echoes of a battle now past. A pale-looking woman knelt in the dirt, her elegant gown stained with mud and her brother's lifeblood. Around them lay the fallen remnants of their escort, soldiers who had given their lives in a desperate attempt to fend off an unexpected ambush. The scene was chaotic: bodies sprawled across the ground, weapons scattered like discarded toys, and the flicker of dying torches casting an eerie glow over the battlefield.
The woman's eyes, once sharp and proud, were now wide with fear and desperation. Her wavy black hair, which usually cascaded gracefully down her back, was tangled and matted, clinging to her tear-streaked cheeks. Her hazel eyes, full of life and vigor, now mirrored the anguish in her heart. Her pink lips, which had often been the source of regal commands and gentle reassurances, now trembled as she pleaded for help that seemed beyond reach.