The Riders: Part I

There were five of them: four men, one woman. From a distance, there were similarities. Three of the men looked nearly identical, though one was clearly older than the others, his moustache mixed a reddish white, and lines creased around his eyes and forehead. He also fidgeted in his saddle, and his horse shied behind the others, then went galloping ahead. The tallest of the younger three was lean, had a long nose and small mouth, and his hair spiked up in several different directions. He looked the least like the others. He sat easily in the saddle of his red roan and alternated between telling stories that had the others laughing and then brooding in silence. Another sat a black thoroughbred, his upper body like a barrel. He rarely spoke, but often scowled. Though when the sun broke through the clouds, he would hum a tune, or sing a verse from a song until once again he lapsed into silence. Riding beside him was the woman, on a black mare, and her long hair was raven black, or had been until it became streaked with lightning patterns of white. Her back was hunched, and she sat low in the saddle, sagging, weighed down by some unseen burden. The last man rode a dapple gray, shorter than the others but with a sturdy frame. Its rider nearly matched. He was the shortest of the five, and yet held himself straight, his shoulders thick as if accustomed to carrying heavy loads. His piercing eyes were studying, inscrutable from behind angled brows, as if he were measuring the world around him.

Five riders. Blood related. Yet, behind this loose connection were gaps and voids wrapped in silence. It was a family divided.