Whist the sun might have been a boon to the newest inhabitant of this realm it was something quite different to one who had been a part of it for centuries. The bright sun beat down upon the black shrouded form, a form from which nothing but two thick gloved hands and two heavy boots could be discerned under the cloak, it moved as if the sun itself were an enemy to be shielded from, its hood pulled low and the shroud, so dark that it seemed to eat the light which struck it, cinched tight to prevent anything beneath it being revealed to the glare of that luminary body. The figure stood unaccompanied by the stream save for a horse, as black as the figure, and oddly calm compared to almost any other horse. Most would be seeking to move about or search for feed, but this one appeared happy to just stand by the stream, occasionally dipping its head to the cool water. On the distant ridge a series of regular mounds were heaped up, too perfect in shape to be anything other than artificial, occasionally the hood of the figure drifted over to look towards the ridge, almost as if drawn there but a pull it couldn't resist.
The figure bent down and picked up a bundle, which on closer inspection could be determined to be a archaic kind of tack, the bit was of bronze with fine details inset at the ends where rings attached it to the reins. The saddle itself would appear strange to those familiar with current designs, it had four protruding horns, one at each corner, and no stirrups for a rider's feet. But despite the strangeness of the tack the figure handled it, even cloaked and hooded with a familiarity which suggested that it had had years of training with which to become fluid with it. Indeed it took mere moments for the saddle to be fixed onto the horse with a split girth and for the bit to be between its teeth. Throughout this process the steed was almost unnaturally passive, it did not seem discomforted, but anyone who knew horses would know that a horse seldom acquiesced to such actions as saddling by simply standing in readiness. The figure mounted by placing his hands either side of the saddle and lifting himself up, mantling over with all the swiftness of a horseman born and bred, with simple pressure of its knees and a light touch of the reins the horse wheeled about.
From the elevated position of horse back the figure spotted another moving along the stream, with a deft touch the horse was soon on its way towards the figure. The figure aroused some curiosity from the horseman, it appeared to be surrounded by a strange pattern of light and colour, gold if sight didn't deceive it. The horse moved swiftly, not breaking into a canter but staying just a little shy of that speed, before stopping short about fifteen paces from the woman before it. The horseman looked towards her, still completely obscured by its shroud, for a moment silence reigned, then finally it spoke, its voice quiet, airy, almost akin to the rustle of the wind amongst dead leaves. It asked, "Whence come you, whither do you go." There was a discomforting feeling about the voice, as if the thing that made the sounds shouldn't be able to do so. "Who are you?"