Most mornings Lance Givens would step onto his large, covered porch and gaze upon his land. He’d close his eyes and breathe it all in, giving thanks to God for the many benefits bestowed upon him. It was something of a ritual and if for any reason, he forgot or omitted to send out his prayer to the cosmos, the guilt would gnaw away at him for the rest of the day. In saying that he rarely forgot. A man of strict habits, one might conclude, by viewing him every morning, that he was obsessive. This particular day, without thinking, he pushed through the main door and smiled as the warmth hit him. His eyes were closed. When he opened them, his smile disappeared.
Five riders, in a dark smudged line, were on the distant horizon, moving slowly bit inexorably towards his home.
They were crossing
