Riding into the Horizon

He swung himself into the saddle with the ease of a man born to the range, the leather creaking beneath him as if greeting an old friend. The sun hung low over the mesa, painting the sky in streaks of orange and red, but he paid it no mind. His gaze fixed on the horizon, where the land stretched wide and wild, promising freedom and danger.

He reined the horse lightly, and with a nudge of his heels, it moved forward, hooves striking a steady rhythm against the hard-packed earth. The wind caught at the brim of his hat, tugging it back, but he leaned into it, his shoulders squared against the coming night.

There was a job to do, a trail to follow, and he had miles to go before the stars would see him rest. Without a backward glance, he rode away, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust and the weight of things left unsaid.