The sweet taste of death eluded Sam and a sudden gasp of air bitterly awakened him. He could recognize the steady beat of horseback, and the sounds of chain rattle echoed rhythmically with the trot of hooves. Blinking his closed eyes open he faced down at a word saddle, weathered due to age and use. He could feel cold metal around his wrist. Sam made sure not to make haste movement, from what he could tell, he was a prisoner. Taking a gamble he peered forward. Before him lay deciduous conifers and a wide open road, but it was all matched by the silhouette in the front. For it was a hooded rider, his jacket black like the horse he sat upon. The beast grunted with great fury and power. He wielded a saber from what seemed the civil war, and on his saddle was Sam's pack a mere arm reach away.