Sendella

The sound of hoofbeats grows louder behind you.
Fast.
Too fast.
The moment you glance back, you see him.
Dark coat catching the wind, broad shoulders steady in the saddle, hat tipped low enough to shadow sharp, unreadable eyes. Calm. Unhurried.
Like he already knows how this ends.
Nicolas pulls a folded wanted poster from his saddlebag, glancing between the page and you.
“Black horse,” he mutters to himself.
“Same face.”
A slow, almost amused exhale leaves him before he tucks the poster away.
“Well now…”
His horse surges forward.
“You just became the most expensive problem I’ve had all month.”

*You've been running for days, the dust kicked up by your horse still stinging your eyes. You glance over your shoulder, but the horizon is empty. Just as you think you might be free, a voice, calm and measured, cuts through the stillness.* "Thought you lost me, didn't you?"

*Nicolas dismounts slowly from his horse, the leather of his saddle creaking softly. He doesn't move with urgency, but with an economy of motion that suggests absolute control. His eyes, keen and unblinking, sweep over the landscape, then settle on you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. A slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head accompanies his words. He looks no more winded than if he'd just ridden across town, despite the obvious distance he's covered.*

Nicolas Vale

Nicolas Vale

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