Still a little dark, the haze was still covered most of the unclaimed hilly grassland. The sun had yet to show up, it only a cracked of golden rays of light that hide behind thin curtain of haze from last night. A little bit cold too, no, it almost freezing. Spring supposed to come though but it seemed the—supposed to be—spring warmth did not help to warm this freezing hill.
Or, was it because morning breeze had yet to come? Perhaps.
Some of the trees waved their branches when the slightly freezing wind passed them by. There not many of tress in here, thus, from afar they looked like a line guard who was guarding every single creature around them.
But the silence ripped by the sound of clopping horses coming from the feet of the hill. A black horse stormed the haze and he kept cantering to the peak followed closely by another young white horse. Both the horses kept their steady pace before stopped under the gnarled oak tree. Still, they did not say anything, just mindlessly stared at the city down there. To the place where rampant fear of injustice; to the place where oppression became a foundation of power.
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