The Original Photo Shoot (Talifey in the beginning)

These are the original fotos that sparked the idea to make The Rider in Black into a story.

You will notice with each picture that is posted that Talifey's horses will change periodically. I take care of horses for a few of my friends and for the camp I work for and it is very rare that I have the same horse for more than 9 months. Below is Talifey and her first steed, Danathane (aka: Dane who is played by the sweet welsh pony, Theodore.) Unfortunately this is Dane's only time to shine as he is set to roam the grasslands in Destaeyrs Hollow where the elven people create a haven for all weary creatures; animal and traveler alike. (Ted went home to his Emma and an adoring new little student)

Till next time

  Enjoy

1.1 Nameless Girl and Aimless Game

It is the year of 224 and 2398 tickenths of the 5th age which is called,"Quinquetus."*   The time when men made up stories to go along with those from the old about legends and myths and all sorts of things; such things were considered to be as real as a the Lord of Perefaile's youngest son riding a purple pony with feather wings that sneezes fairy dust and emanates flowers and farts rose petals. They have no idea how real some of those myths and legends are. The elven creatures retreated to Destaeyrs Hollow behind the Jakyr mountains, and the dwarves to new hidden mines and whole underworld cities beneath the Falconer foothills. There have been rumors of goblin men who steal human women because they lost there own and trees that move and speak. I know the first two to be true because I have met the dwarves and elves myself, but I can't say about the other two. I personally think they're hedge healer's catarphen weed. My name is X. No, seriously: I have no name. When Myl found me, he said that my mother had written but one letter in the tongues of old, so he called Talifey which apparently means, "she the nameless," in the tongues of old. I don't know if I believe it. Myl is a wise old man and the closest thing I have to a father. He gave me Dane, taught me to ride, fight, track, hunt, skulk n stalk and just about everything I know. My trusty white steed Danathane was a gift on my 3rd birthday as well as my first riding lessons. Danathane was young but gentle from the training from the shasshaa, a shy people who can be in plain sight and make themselves seem like they aren't there at all. There ways with horses and other creatures is a legend. Any horse trained by the Shasshaa is highly prized and sought after. Myl never told me how he came by Dane. Iggy is what you might call my brother and best friend. Iganthriel is half elven and half human. Myl found Iggy a year or two before he found me. Iggy is about two years older than I am, six foote and 2 sect, has pail grey eyes like the first winter snow and dusty gold-brown hair like the colors of the trees of the harvest season. He is.... a blessing and a curse.

Prologue

     The battle was hot, but the tent hidden on top of the heavily forested rise was hotter. Sasdefain grunted in pain, knowing full well  that her cries would arouse suspicion and attract unwanted company up the hillside. The young attendant and healer slipped a wadded rag into her mouth. Sasdefain immediately took to it and bit down hard, driving all the cries and profanities that could not escape her lips into the muffled barrier of the gag. The healer moved quickly and deliberately, daring not show the tension that was growing behind her eyes. Retrieving yet another warn out bit of cloth and basin of warm water, the healer washed the blood a way. "Soon, my lady," she said soothingly, "there is just a short time left, before it is finished."
      Outside, the battle could be heard easily from the bluff. Metal upon metal, screams of horses and men alike, battles cries of ferocity, the dull thud of shield on bone and flesh filled the summer's night air. Enemy lines were advancing, much more swiftly than Sir Lancot* and his men could have imagined  them to. They were gaining ground up the hill; closer and closer to the tent of Sir Lancot and his lady. Too close for anyone to be comfortable. Especially under these circumstances. Her ladyship had refused to stay at home while the men fought, insisting that she must be with Sir Lancot wherever he went (not realizing what changes in her body were doing to her sense of judgment).
     In the tent, the young healer was becoming increasingly alarmed by the situation. Lady Sasdefain was in no way to travel, let alone flee for dear life; too weak, without repair. Sasdefain groaned, sweat beading her flushed, caramel forehead, her long dark hair laying loose from movement. She drew in one long hard breath and screamed her pain into the gag, straining as hard as she could. Suddenly another cry joined the night's chorus, the fruit of her laboring. Sasdefain removed the gag from her mouth and lay back panting. Another attendant stepped in with a document and a quill and ink. "A girl.... ," she said softly. Extending the quill and ink, she said,"She needs a name." The lady, exhausted and relieved, took up the quill that was offered. She began slowly etching a name on the paper, with one mark. She was on the second later when they came. Whisking them away to safety. Or so they thought. The ranks had been broken, everyone was fleeing for their lives. Mother and newborn child were seperated and with the child went the document with the unfinished name.


*Sir Lancot (Lan-Sot)

Author's Note

This is a character I came up with a bit ago when I was out riding a pony I was long-term baby-sitting. It is an ongoing tale that I will try to write about at least every other day. The tale is set in medieval times and may or may not buck the flow, depending on how you view society. (my beliefs, community, and culture often bucks the flow and I have absolutely no idea how it is to be on the outside listening to an Adventist kid talk)
Simply put, this is a medieval story that will continually be added to. You may come back tomorrow for  the beginning of the story if you like.

Sincerely,
                Lf