Prelude
...
The landscape was barren. Grasses, knotted into each other, grew and blew in the unbroken wind that howled from the grey sky.
It looked like it would rain; but then again, it always did, whether or not the rain came.
But there had been days, Before, when the sun shone and people where poor, dirt poor, but always smiled.
Before, when the world had not given up and died.
Two figures, a man atop a horse appeared from the distance, the only living thing in the vast nothingness of land and sky. They were headed to a vast rock that stood out against the rugged landscape.
However, on closer inspection, the rock is not a rock at all, but a badly dilapidated citadel, made entirely from white stone. The stone would have once gleamed, blinding any traveller who saw it. Now the white was turning a steady pale grey, interrupted by green vines and black, jagged cracks. Despite its ruined nature, it still dominated the surroundings.
It had been built up from a ravine, and was surrounded on all sides by dark grey cliffs. The gully formed would have once been filled with water, but now the bottom was bone dry. A bridge connected the grassy landscape to the citadel, also made from white stone, and intricately carved with depictions of old folk stories.
Just before the bridge started, the rider dismounted from the horse. He patted the horse’s muzzle, before carrying on along the bridge.
The rider was in his early twenties, unruly hair blew into his dark eyes and face. He was dressed from head to toe in black; black jacket, t-shirt, jeans, shoes. His face was set in an expressionless pose.
His name was Seth. And he was the last cowboy in this town.
YOU ARE READING
Butcherbirds
General FictionSix years since the oil ran out. Six years since his father betrayed him and everyone else. Six years since his world crashed and burnt. A prince in exile returns to the place where he lost it all, his crown, his people, his friend. And there's noth...
