The Rider

It was windier than usual that night. The wind howled through the tall, shadowy woods making the hallow wood whistle. The owls could not even be heard over the breeze.
A bearded, shaggy young man with a tattered uniform galloped through these woods on a wild horse, leaning forwards to keep the wind out of his eyes.
In his saddlebag was a scroll tied with a cord of leather. And this man had determined means to deliver it. He didn’t know what it said, unfortunately. All he knew was, that if he did not deliver it, the fate of the future would be on his hands.
An hour flew by, almost as fast as the old horse was running. An hour of branches tearing his clothes and trying to hold him down. But he had eyes and senses only for the path ahead.
Eventually, in the distance, he could see the old cottage nestled in a bundle of trees. The bricks were old and could barely hold up the structure.
Mother Gothel was standing on the porch, waiting patiently. A hood was covering the top of her scraggily grey hair, and her purple eyes were ablaze with curiosity.
The man pulled the reigns harshly as he skidded up to the house. Clambering off the horse, the man took up his saddlebag and made his way over to Mother Gothel.
Mother Gothel opened the bag and pulled out the paper and unraveled it, her eyes skimming over the words faster then one could comprehend.
Finally, with a grunt, she handed the man a gold coin.