Charley noticed some movement from afar, and within a few minutes she could just make out in the distance, a rider approaching the homestead below. She watched as the figure dismounted and went to the door, and then alighted his horse once again.
“Perhaps he is delivering the mail”, she said cheerily to Toby, who had forsaken his crimson gum leaf for a smooth bark-less stick, that he started to draw in the dirt with.
“Oh look, he is coming this way” she said, trying to get her young son’s attention.
The rider wore a long oilskin coat and hat that shone in the sun - it was near impossible to make out his age from the distance. He had long boots, and a saddle bag to match, and a dappled dark brown horse.
“That is my favourite kind of horse”, Charley said to her boy. He nodded, absorbed in his artwork.
“I think I will get you a hat like that.” she said, giving him a kiss on the top of his head.
“He can have mine”, came a voice from behind.
It was the rider, who appeared very suddenly at the back of them.
This voice was all too familiar. Charley turned to face him.
His long hair was tied back, his once beard was but a shadow. He looked well.
“Francis?” she said questioningly -
“Yes,” he said softly with a smile “Pietro found his way home at last.”
Francis had managed to reclaim his body the moment his father had withdrawn.
- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
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