Phantoms and Horses

The forest was quiet that night. The usual symphony of owl calls, brush-rustling, and ever-screeching chirps of crickets seemed to have gone silent. Even the wind that normally howled between the trees seemed to be quieter, more subdued than usual. It was as if the entire wood was holding its breath, waiting for something. Aryn shivered and tightened his cloak around his shoulders, glancing warily into the brush as he did. He hated hunting at night, but winter would soon be here, and his family needed to build up the stocks of meat before the cold rendered hunting impossible. But this silence… it was unnatural, dangerous. He frowned and looked uneasily at the sky. It was getting late, and he wasn’t far from home. Maybe it would be safer to turn back… 

A branch cracked in the trees next to him, cutting off Aryn’s thoughts and ringing out into the silence. He yelped despite himself, then turned and readied his bow. He saw… nothing. That was the plain truth of it. No shining eyes reflecting back at him, no quivering pelt. It was just dark woods, no different than the rest of the land around him. 

“Who’s there?” he whispered into the night. No response, not unless you counted the whispering of the wind. Aryn shook his head dismissively and lowered his bow, replacing the arrow in his quiver. He must have imagined it. The dark woods with only the moonlight to light the way… the strange quiet… well, it was enough to make anyone imagine things. He continued on the way he had been walking, towards his usual hunting spot. But from then on, something was different. The longer he walked, the more he was sure that he didn’t recognize this stretch of the woods. Those trees… even in the darkness, Aryn could tell that they were darker in color than usual… weren’t they? And those berries, the color of blood, they weren’t of any kind that he had ever seen. The wind, too, seemed to grow rank and flat, more like the air inside of a tomb than the lively winter cold that it had been. But that was impossible. He had taken the same path that he had been taking for years… 

That was when they stepped out in front of him, taking the wind from Aryn’s lungs. They were… shadows. That was the only way to describe them. They were all completely covered in plate armor, like the knights of the kingdom, but it was scratched and dented, as if someone had taken to it with hammers and thorns. All of the armor was very different. Some looked exactly like the plate armor from the kingdom, but some were covered in metal spikes, or had very different helmets, or different gauntlets. All of them, however, had the same symbol painted on the shoulder of the armor. A black circle, surrounded by a ring of white that glowed faintly. And under the visor… were those glowing points of fire eyes? They must be, for what else could they be? Aryn shuddered, and not from the cold of the wind. He couldn’t move, couldn’t draw his bow. The warrior in the lead regarded him with an expression that was somehow cold, despite his flaming eyes. It drew its sword, made of some strange dark metal, and held it at the ready. One by one, with a screeching of metal, the rest of the warriors followed suit. A silent threat. Aryn swallowed, his eyes darting around wildly. But he couldn’t move… He was frozen to the spot. The warrior in the lead inched forward, growing closer with that dark sword… 

The whinny of a horse sounded from the woods next to him. The effect was immediate. Every one of the warriors stumbled back, hissing and flinching as if they had just been struck. Some dropped their swords and struggled to pick them back up. Another neigh rang through the air, and Aryn watched in wonder as a stallion appeared out of nowhere and stepped boldly into the clearing, directly between the warriors and Aryn. It was silver-white, the color of moonlight, and glowed faintly, illuminating the path. It turned to the warriors and tossed its mane, its nostrils flared. The warriors stepped back, and a low rattling noise began in the throat of the one in the lead. The stallion pawed its hooves on the ground, snorting. It turned its head to look at Aryn, a determined look in its eyes. RUN, those eyes said. 

Aryn didn’t wait to be told twice. His motionlessness broken, he turned tail and dashed away, putting as much distance between himself and the shadow warriors as possible. The woods became a blur next to him, black and brown and green and red all blending together. His feet pounded the dirt, propelling him through the forest. The last thing he heard was the faint braying of a horse… and then he was back. Back on the path that he knew well, back in his woods. He leaned against a tree, panting, and glanced back the way he had come. It was completely normal, no dark trees, no blood red berries, no terrifying shadow warriors in dented armor. He let out a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding. Safe. He was safe, and the horse had saved him. He recovered his breath and gave a glance to the way he had come. He felt certain that if he walked on now, he would find only the normal path. The noises of the woods had returned to normal, the roar of the wind and the screech of crickets ringing from everywhere around him. He sighed with relief. 

“Thank you,” Aryn whispered into the wind. Maybe it was his imagination, maybe not, but Aryn thought that he could hear a faint whinny in the wind. He smiled, turned around, and without hesitation started off towards home. He had had enough of the woods for tonight.