The old priest was taking time out.
He often did this after giving one of his more poignant sermons. It was a quiet place, not far from the church and his humble dwellings. Nobody ever came here. The old gnarled tree stump he sat on in the corner of the abandoned meadow had been there a long time. Far longer than any in the village could remember, he felt sure of that. Perhaps that’s why he found it a comforting thing to sit on. It had been there before him and would be there long after. He thought back to the morning’s service. He wasn’t happy with the way the world was going. That had been the main thrust of his little talk to the gathered parishioners.
The day was clear and his view of the fields that stretched away was, as always, a peaceful vision of Mother Nature. The air was warm and still. The line of trees that crested the farthest hill was the extent of the panorama. He loved the place. For him, it summed up all that was good in the world.
This morning, despite there being no breeze, the distant trees were swaying. It could be that his old eyes were deceiving him, he thought, but as he watched they seemed to separate; with four trees moving. They were moving and growing gradually larger. As the moments passed they appeared to be coming down the distant hill and gathering pace.
The old man grunted as he realised he was seeing horses. Not so unusual, considering the number of farms in the district. They may well have got loose, he thought. Still watching, he was again jolted out of his morning reverie when he made out that each was being ridden. Four riders, still cantering through the fields and hedges. They seemed to be passing through the hedges, not jumping them! He stood to get a better view. At the copse, near the next ridge he saw them merge through trees without hindrance. Four horses with riders, each animal a different colour.
As they wafted through the hedgerow into his field, his sight of them became clearer. He heard the heavy pounding of their hooves and saw the riders and what they were.
Horses; red, grey, black and the last… the last was a pale horse.
As they thundered passed, the old priest climbed onto the stump to watch them go. To watch as they hastened towards the city.
The place where they would herald the final judgement.
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