A Mood Piece

A lone rider gallops through the darkened forest, a hood masks his face and a long dark robe covers every inch of skin. Residents of the darkened village dare not comment on the flaming hooves of his steed, not the ragged nature of his appearance. They know not to insult nor displease strangers, especially not strangers like this. The rider pulls up outside the inn, a turn of his head this way and that, checking the area. He nods seemingly satisfied and dismounts from his steed, neglecting to tie it to a post, merely giving it a hand wave, the steed lifts its head and remains still, well trained indeed. The villagers watch with curiosity as the stranger enters the inn, signals the bar girl for a drink and settles himself at a table by the fire. The hood remains up and the girl tremors as she hands him a tankard. He drops a coin into her shaking hands and nods, turning away from her and staring into the fire.

A rider gallops in from the opposite direction, a smaller steed, still just as burning and the villagers would look away if it were not for the spectacle of pursuit. Three young men chase the second rider; she pushes her steed hard, faster away from her followers. Even in the dark the villagers see her panic, her robe once neat now torn and her hair falling from its place behind pins. Most can guess the situation but choose not to act, the flames speak volumes about her relationship to the imposing stranger and their business is now their own.

She leaps from her steed and clatters into the inn, heading straight for the hooded stranger, the men follow, raucous, arrogant and misogynist. The hooded stranger sets his tankard down and stands, command radiating from him, the girl and the men follow him out of the door and round the back of the inn, without hint of question.

The villagers are not foolish and the pungent scent of charred flesh radiating from two strangers returning to the front of the inn is not something they will question. The young men are dealt with swiftly, and the hooded man turns to the girl. He speaks in a low tone, commanding and questioning at once. She shrieks back at him, defiant and terrified. She is not a murderer. The villagers who still harbour foolishness in their old bones disagree; it earns them a fiery look from the hooded man and any presumptions they had are lost.

A hand on the girl’s arm calms her and a gentle nudge sends her back into the inn. A mug in her trembling hands and the man is somewhat closer to satisfied. He gives her a hard look, reproaching her but the bar girl sees the concern, fear and fondness and is suddenly less afraid of the hooded stranger as she wordlessly hands him another tankard. After all she too remembers her experience with the three men now lying in cinders at the back of the inn, they will not be mourned, but they would not be forgotten. Silently, she thanks the hooded man and his girl, and hopes they will stay.

The villagers disagree.





((This is not an actual event. It is a mood piece, it is meant to convey about fifteen different things; emotions, feelings, concepts and more. I can go in to detail if anyone fancies, but for now I'll let you read it and figure it out ))