A Messenger’s Duty


His hair white with frost, his fingers wrapped tight around the reins, the boy urged the pony on into the swirling storm. It faltered, whimpered, then fell to the snow-strewn rocks, the boy tumbling with it.

He picked himself up, pulled the scroll from the saddlebag, and went on into the storm alone.

This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Patrick Wittke for the prompt photo!

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