The mist was impenetrable and curled in intricate shapes, forming an ethereal spectacle in the dim light of the late afternoon. It danced around the sturdy oak trees, caressed the rough barks in an almost tender fashion. The gnarled branches of the trees swayed, leaves rustled, murmuring a soft melody that resonated throughout the heart of the bog. Though in motion, the landscape seemed strangely cold and lifeless. Darkness encroached from below, boldly swept across the land, then swallowed it. Tendrils, both complex and smooth in nature, reached for the old barks’ roots, as if trying to pull them underground.

Amidst all of that, there was a tall, equine creature, slick and damp, its dark skin strangely mythical and alluring. The way it moved was fluid and graceful, but only appeared harmonious from a distance. As it approached, the beast’s strength and presence became overpowering. It was wilful, proud, untamed; its pose spoke of determination. This bog was its territory and even the tendrils of darkness made room for it as to not hinder its path.

He felt reminded of a tempest; and yet there was something elegant, almost fragile about this unusual encounter. Perhaps it was wrong, but he had always been fascinated by the destructive and perilous. And now, here he was, faced with the incredible and unfathomable. Was this even real? His eyes nervously scanned the beast. It was much taller than him, its four legs so strong he thought its gallop might turn the world asunder. Its body was black as night, wet and slick, its mane and tail a tangled mess of grasses and bulrushes. Bulging black eyes burned, seemingly lit by cold fire.

He had to tame it, had to ride it, and feel the strange creature’s power. The darkness was calling out to him seducing him with its smooth calm. He approached slowly and cautiously, so he would not be perceived as a threat. His steps were light and gentle, echoing only softly, nay imperceptibly. They were a pair of opposites, his lightness contrasted with the boldness of the beast. And for a brief moment the bog became suspended in time. Pale hand resting against dark skin two of different origins became closely acquainted. It was only then that he noticed the pouring rain disrupting the subtle chant of the old oak trees. The rhythm of the bog had changed.

tbc.