A Brush with Death

Hooves sinking deep into wet sand, the two horses raced through the surf. The riders were drowned in sounds of thunderous horseshoes, ragged breaths, booming heartbeats, crashing waves, and the fierce war cries of their ten pursuers, who wore black robes and black mail upon black horses.

“They’re gaining!” Alida shouted to her companion.

“We’ll lose them at the river mouth!” Inga replied, urging her horse onwards.

The mouth loomed ahead, the sea waters flowing around jagged rocks as they became fast-flowing river rapids.

“We’ll lose ourselves!” Alida snapped.

But Inga ignored her, riding into the roaring rapids, her horse protesting, the ten riders hot upon her trail. Alida raced after her.

Moments later, they were on the other side, their horses drenched and terrified, their pursuers left behind.

“Why do you always lead me so close to death?” Alida asked.

Inga smiled. “But I always lead you back.”

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Word Count: 149

This is for Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Iain Kelly for providing the prompt photo!

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