He looks mildly amused as his gaze moves from one highwayman to the next; the weather, however, gives him away. The rain pounds down on us, and behind the Reaper, lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating his form. “Well, who the fuck is this?” the leader of the group says, clearly unaware who has just joined them. I hear the slide of wood against wood as he grabs an arrow and nocks it. “Most call me Famine, though I must admit, I have a particular fondness for ‘the Reaper.’” Another bolt of lightning streaks down from the sky, and for an instant, I can see the horseman in all his
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