The rhythmic clopping of Able's grey and brown mare accentuated the tribal tunes he hummed as he traveled slowly onward. She was taken good care of for as much traveling as she has had to put up with. This thought in mind, Able gave her proud and gentle strokes down her neck. His gloved hand felt the dull shudder of her pelt moving steadily with her natural percussion against the earth. The other hand gripped reigns that lead from his wrist to an ornate saddle, proportionately more expensive compared to the horse. It bore a large gold skull with a flaming sun and crescent moon in the eye sockets on a large circlet at each side of her, the dreaded symbol of the Riddle Valley Bandits. The horse was more unique than it's rider appeared to be, being a man seeming of a small stature in the loose clothes that shrouded his entire person. The thankfully thin material kept him comfortable to the foreign lands heat and sun that radiated off of a sea of burnished gold sand. His wide-brimmed hat shielded everything of the sky except for the horizon, Where the top of the temple he was moving toward escaped to. His focused attention to it, as well as his favorite song of home, was broken by the surprise of distant silhouettes ahead of him. One must have used the same pillared bridge to achieve the practically linear path in his sight. Gleams of shimmering heat and metallic light distorted the blackened figure.

[i]Strange, but no surprise,[/i] He scorned himself for the late thought. [i]After coming from so far away and not expecting to be the last in line...[/i]

Able buckled the flaps holding the rogue signets into the actual saddle itself. Then, with energetic words and the heels of his tall boots, he took to the temple with the vigor of the company encroaching his intermediate destiny.