Marlos, Spain: A Short Story

of Marlos, Spain. The story that I am about to tell you is one that I truly wish I could forget, as if it never happened to me. I relive the terror of it in my dreams every night. I was traveling through the wilderness on a trail on the foggy and stormy evening of October the 13th, 1867. My horse, Miles, trampled fiercely through the rushing wind and rain that soaked both my hat and my fur coats. The brown in them both became much darker due to the absorbing of moisture. Drips of water rushed down my chilled face as Miles ran and the lighting struck with a loud rumble of thunder following. I had not eaten in nearly two days due to the long ride. I felt fatigue and hunger coursing through my stomach and my arms and legs, almost as if I could