Beyond the only mountain of a big flat plane laid a small town, sparsely populated by people – not too different from the other inhabitants of the plane – and yet could be considered as poorer, hidden away by the shadow of that colossal rock.
The people here were carving out a miserable existence in a habitat, both harsh and cold. The folks of this town didn’t get very old. Most of them were forced to work all day long just to hit their beds hungry.
Usually the townsfolk wore a stern countenance, as if it was some sort of uniform; today, however, most of them cheered.
This day was different, for the horsemen returned.
A middle-aged man spoke to his daughter, both standing in the masses: “What do you see, my dearest?” “I see the horsemen, father. Oh, how gorgeous they look in their red capes. It’s a color of glory. The color of heroes!”
The masses kept cheering.
“Yes, my dear, it’s true, a pinch of red in all that desolate grey. What else do you see?”
But some people stood in the background. All quiet.
“I see their horses. They seem overwhelmed by emotions. How proud they must be!”
It rained roses.
“Overwhelmed indeed. Do you see something else?”
The deep red color of the noble flowers made the animals nervous.
“Yes, I do. Oh, how I love all this glorious splendor. Their armament looks so expensive… They must be so happy about their return!”
A bunch of women laughed. A bunch of women cried.
“Well they probably should be,” her father said. The middle-aged man stroked his grey beard with an aging hand. “So, father, tell me. What do you see?”
The veteran gave his daughter a firm look and answered the question:” I see a bunch of young bucks. Younkers all cloaked in a crimson red.”
A trail of red, was all that the horsemen left behind. Red roses stamped into the grey dust.