Prologue

The sun is high in the sky. Flowers and weeds alike are scattered around, yielding to the ancient trees' roots. All are singing their silent hymns to their god. The sun's bright rays gently land on a boy's fair skin, and beads of sweat run down his body. He observes his surroundings they remind him of treks with his mare. Peace surrounds him; the animals are calm, and no wind dances with the plants. The wild grass is still, but not at the boy's feet.

He continues racing through the forest, the sun now imaginary through the trees' boughs. Every branch, twig, and leaf denies the boy his glory. But this does not concern him. He runs, runs, runs. His speed magnifies each breath of wind. Locks of flame-like hair dance with the wind, fast as a swallow but still a graceful swan. The last of the morning's dew fall from the lowest branches on to his unwashed face; the trees mourn the boy's loss of light. But this does not concern him. The boy does not look back. His head only looks forward, without an expression on his face. His body only moves forward. He has always been unbelievably enduring for his slender build, and just as fast. Once again, he remembers his horse.

It begins to rain. But this does not concern him.