Prologue

November 12, 1664

The murder came out of nowhere. An elderly widow found, her throat slit. Just seven days later the farm catches fire, killing all those inside. All but one. The widow's prized stallion Afterglow finds his way out of the burning building, to a mountain known as Claimed Ridge. He ascends the monster, curious townsfolk from the town below watching. Waiting. The horse turns his massive head toward a rising cloud of black smoke.

His silver man blows away from the doomed farm. His milky white coat now stained with ash and blood. his fine grey hooves now cracked and sore. Somewhere in the distance, an eye is trained on his movements. The eye of the one who set him free of the stable. The eye of the widow's murderer.

The stallion drinks the air; raises his head in recognition. The scent comes to him and a shudder ripples throughout his body. The scent calls to him, beckons him to its source. He shakes it off.

The townsfolk still watching, wondering what he will do, widen their entranced eyes as the stallion rears. A piercing scream rockets through the air. The eye, the eye of the murderer watches. The stallion meets the ground again, pebbles rolling off the edge. He lowers his head to see better the rocks below.

He jumps.

The fall is silent, no cry of fear or pain. The stallion meets the rockey earth. Pierced through the heart, he dies slowly. He utters no cry of suffering. His eyes close, his heart's pumping slowing. The darkness comes. He lets it come. He welcomes it. He slips into blackness.