The Conqueror

He rode his Palomino mare as if the cold of morning had immobilised his blood-stained body into a town of empty houses and vacant stares in acrid smoke. No words were spoken, none were needed, he would be ruler here with fists of iron until the last of these vile people saw that God had left them to the unexpected mercy of a glorious great army from the East. They had subdued all pockets of resistance and he was fearless in his victory parade. Though was it courtesy that gave him cause to pause at the memorial of their founding father king? A solitary man upon a trusted Palomino, the target of a single hostile arrow. It ended the injustice of a conqueror and then declared the mother of all wars.