An Epic Story

AN EPIC STORY- FICTION In a chase, she rode far east at the sun's wake, the wind daintily throwing her wig as the horse tread into black fields in dawn's glare, stained red with a colour of her days; her thighs grew weary, dangled like broken mahogany, tugging pain into grey eyes, as blood thickened over cold gash. she stumbled off the horse at the sigh of a swooshing arrow, aimed at her son but pierces her heart, drawing her last breath unto the canvas of the morning sky; nursed to sleep by the earth in the sight of her creator, she died for one. shrills... Her young awakened at the fall shrouded in a dark veil fastened around her back like a knapsack, his wails jolted her breathless self, but to no avail the sun fell at the rise of an evil in the west a mother's love put to a fatal test, a death or a death, but her son liveth saved by her last breath. For she had climbed down a window a night before, facing a street hazy with smoke and red with blood and fire, but with the wound on her limb festering from a cut in the moment of her flee she couldn't get too far, even on a horse's back, but her son was safe, only for a day longer than it would have been, for the fields were no place for a new born.