035: The Rider on the Hill

A red rider rode across the hill. It was early morning. Mist still lay in the valleys around. The cape billowed, lined with a golden sunrise, and a horn rang from top to top. Only a lonely wanderer saw it, leaning on his walking stick with nothing but his clothes on his body and a knapsack on his back. He still had many miles to walk before the day's end, but at the sight of the red rider his steps lightened. Morning had, at long last, come.

Written by: Katrine H.