"Let your Truth Speak." A well-known Horseman of Apocalypse, Kenneth, prodded. His partner, an ally of a sort, had just turned to take a leak. Both idled upon a desert trail that led to a Grand Canyon-esque crater, allowing each other to rest before continuing.

Jon turned towards him, stumbling onto a reality not his own. Horror of what was to come once they reached their goal spread across the shadows on his face. "We traveled for so long. They cannot reach us from afar . . . ?" He asked.

Kenneth vacantly peered towards the direction they were headed as he formulated a response carefully threaded. "There's no guarantee we're not already beheaded." Finally, he warily observed his ally. "We'll be alright . . . Quit overthinking so much. I know how your anxiety can make you lightheaded." He said, signaling that the conversation had come to a close and climbed atop his horse.

Jon, a shell of a man once great as he, gravely did the same. Both hurriedly rode towards a shared objective in hopes of outrunning Death, Famine, and a War they want no part in.


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