It was nowhere, but it could have been anywhere. Orange sun shone down upon a red rock canyon, yet no shade was cast by the dank skeletal mare, nor by her grim, somewhat inhuman, companion.
Death, the smell of decay and his cold clammy stare, felt familiar and safe- full of compassion. He knew why I came, ’twas clear he saw my despair. He knew the question I, myself couldn’t fathom. Soundlessly he told me, with words both fell and fair, “They’re not coming.” Dream words that disappeared upon reflection.
Nodding to me with a gentleman’s flair, he spurred his haggard mount to a gallop. The brawn of his fleshless army, whom I’d been unaware of, sped after him, far beyond the horizon.
In a red, dread silence, I pondered the affair. The weight that had been upon me was, strangely, gone. His answer brought me relief, although I would swear- that in my brief encounter with the dread captain, I never knew the question. Only the answer. Death knew, but I’ll forever seek that lost phantom.