He stared out into the swirling grey ahead and then, what seemed a long way off, came the slow sound of a horse's hoofs, but too slow to be any real horse. Deep in the grey, a white column sailed toward him. Then, out of the mist, careering toward him, came a white horse surmounted by a white rider who raised one arm up into the air and behind his head. Too late, John Evert understood that it was a real man atop the horse, all painted in white, and that the hand he was bringing back from behind his head held an arrow, which he was fitting into a bow.
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