CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The rider sat upon a despondent horse. Moving at an easy walking pace, the horse hung his head low, staring only at the ground directly before him, but he kept a straight track on the road, nevertheless. The rider stared straight ahead, yet she saw nothing before her. The great clouds of inky black smoke billowing up some distance behind the horse and rider signaled that no matter what lay ahead of them, they could never return to the place they had departed.
The rider held her back straight, her head high. Sticky, black pitch stained her hands and dress, but she seemed not to notice. All she was aware of were the plumes of black thoughts billowing around in her head. If she felt the burning sun, it did not register on her face. Nothing, in fact, registered on her expres
