The Four Horsemen of Apocalypse

It's time. They are here.


13. ---We

We don't know what to do anymore. Or at least, I don't. The other children are dead now, they died of starvation. The thing is, I'm the only child not dead, and yet I stopped having food before them. Everyone's puzzling over it, or at least, that's all they seem to be doing. They might just be dying, though.

He rode fast, cantering through the countryside, eager to reach his destination. Forests of green rose up in hills beside him. Cows lifted their weary heads to watch him riding by. He paid them no heed. He saw other horses, neighing out their greetings to his own. She ignored them. A smile formed on his face.

He came to a stop at the crest of a hill, looking down on a dark valley. In the bowl dark, inhuman figures terrorized the deer. Famine narrowed his eyes, his horse snorted its displeasure. Pale, long limbs made the creatures fly across ground, unseeing eyes fixed on the prey. Saliva dripped from the jaws, which was slightly open, prevented from closing by those teeth. Long white knives of bone. Famine supposed you couldn't really call them teeth. Whatever they were, they stuck out at odd angles, tangled between themselves yet still clicking together without what seemed to be any logic. It just worked.

A long, rattling sigh emerged from the immortal. "I suppose I'll have to do something..."

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