(Inspired by The Blighted Moon Deck by @Sabretooth)
It is dark in this wilderness. The wide desert stretches to the feet of tall mountains many miles away, miles of sand and dust and dryness. Though the sky is clear, there is no sun. Only stars, blazing cold and proud upon the flatness. Through this flat landscape I ride, upon a steed dark and silent, save for the soft sounds of hoofs on sand and our breathing. I peer at the ground, seeking the trail I have followed since two nights ago: the hooves of a withered beast, cold and fast where the living are slowed. It is my quarry, and I must stop it, slay it if need be, though some say it is already dead.
At my side are my revolvers, hidden in holsters of black leather against the stars’ piercing sight. I carry a belt of ammunition, and supplies for a week of travel; though only for a single traveler. If I do not catch my quarry in five days, I will have but three to reach the mountains or die in this desert, wandering in thirst until I collapse. My steed would perish first, as he needs more water than myself. Water holes can be found occasionally in the flatlands, but I do not count on such luck, not with my quarry leading me.
I raise my eyes, looking off into the pale horizon. There is a motion a few miles off, a stirring and a brief glint of a smooth object moving quickly. Even as I watch, my quarry is ahead, moving fast towards his destination, though only he knows what it may be. Under him is his withered steed, hard to see in the darkness, with its coat of gray and its lack of luster. It will not tire, not until I am forced to go afoot. The time for that will come, for the mountain forests are too thick to travel mounted. There, if we do not meet, I must trust to my guns and my knife. Are there inhabitants? I do not know. There are stories of a stronghold there, terrible legends of travelers vanished, but none that could be called true. Proof of each is buried under centuries and the retellings of generations. And so, I travel on. The darkness will end, certainly, but only after many miles. And where it ends, there my quarry must turn and face me, in the blazing light that burns what it touches and leaves nothing but ashes.