Clouded breath pulsing out of their nostrils with each movement
Eight magnificent creatures, like figures in the Wild Hunt
Straining at the reins and bridle of their eternal master, moving forward forever
He is dressed all in crimson and furs
His vision greater than any mortal man, his ears keen
An immortal force powers his heart and directs his mission
No way is barred to him, for he is invited in almost everywhere
A herald of the cross and its greatest adversary to others,
Children whisper about his movements and if they will be blessed or cursed by his hand
Adults tell many story about him and his ilk to keep the young compliant
And to remember their own past thoughts of nightly visitors
There are others like him that come in the night
That change fate and skulk in bedrooms for boons
But he is the greatest and most discussed
In hushed reverence by the young, mockingly by the older
But they still remember when they weighed their own souls against his judgement
And, to lesser degrees, against the judgment of his brethren
Creatures of myths that made us respect the liminal, the ancient,
The unknown and the passage from night unto day
His image is now used to scare or to sell products
He travels through the ebon skies regardless
The legend that began in the mountains had spread
And we all listen for his signature sound of that pale man
He stalks the planet, taking his payment and giving his boon as he sees fit
He has his season but is a year round figure of rebuke
Always watching, always listening
So, he rides through the night,
Carried forth by mystical Thunder and Lightning
Hunger for what is promised to him through old pacts
Tonight is his night.
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