The Maglin Woods were quiet. Woodland creatures were waking up, and an albino squirrel crawled out of its den to witness the newborn day.
It yawned and stretched its furry arms above its head. Dropping them, its nostrils took in a whiff of fresh air, and it crept in the direction of a branch that it enjoyed climbing. It jumped from branch to branch to reach the one it wanted, but once it did, it was relieved. Up there, it enjoyed its morning acorn and chattered a little song.
Suddenly, a few birds zipped past the squirrel and almost knocked it off its branch, but it caught itself.
Angered, it clenched its fist and shook it at the birds. The squirrel attempted to eat its acorn in silence, but then came the whinny of a horse.
Throwing down its acorn, the squirrel hurried to the edge of the branch and pulled leaves apart.
A blur rushed by its tree. It was a Quarterhorse, and its horseshoes abused the ground as it galloped as fast as it could.
The squirrel slapped its paws over its ears and dove back into its den.
Aboard the Quarterhorse was a man wearing a black cloak, and he held a miniature, brown trunk under his arm. He had stolen it from Maglin Town, a small town not far from the woods, and was on the verge of annoyance. He ran so fast that it almost looked like he was trying to escape something, or better said, someone.
The man, Lieutenant Clayton, peeked over his shoulder and saw he was being followed.
Close on his tail was a Freiberger, and aboard the Freiberger was a man dressed in all black. A mask was tied tightly around his face, and he held a medieval broad sword over his head. His hat fell behind his head, and he urged his horse forward. He squeezed his sides and yelled, “Hyah, hyah!”
Neighing, the horse sped up the pace, and Clayton gasped.
Now curious, the squirrel peeked out of its hole, and its nose twitched. It exited its hole and crept toward another branch, jumping onto it. While there, it tried to figure out why Clayton was trying to escape the other man. Then it saw the lieutenant approaching its branch and screeched.
Reaching the branch, Clayton pulled it forward, and the squirrel held on for dear life. Clayton released it, and the squirrel flew into the other man’s face.
He quickly ducked under the maddened branch. “What the—?” He tried to pull the squirrel off him. “Get off of me! I have to capture that thief!”
Terrified, the squirrel continued to hold onto him, its knees shaking.
The masked man ripped it off and made a quick stop to return it to the wild. After placing the squirrel on a new branch, he scratched it under the chin and said, “You'd better be more careful.” His voice was young.
Understanding, the squirrel nodded.
The man then urged his horse forward and left the squirrel.
It collapsed onto the branch and fainted.
The man dressed in black yelled to Clayton, “Clayton!”
Clayton ignored him, galloping faster. Before he knew it, the masked man ran beside him and lunged forward with his sword. Clayton ducked under the blade. He drew his own sword, and the two enemies became involved in a swordfight. The blades echoed in the air, and the woodland creatures hurried into their holes where it wasn’t as loud.
Aboard the horses, Clayton shouted, “Give it up, Majestic Man!” to the other man. “The Ax’s Chest is in the hands of Team Pinta, and there is nothing you can do about it!”
Majestic Man, the name of the other horseman, was defined as the “greatest hero ever to walk Pinta Country,” known for his skills in swordsmanship and horsemanship. He told his enemy, “Understand this, Clayton, that I am a hero, and a hero will do anything in his power to keep Maglin Town balanced. I’m going to get that chest back! Just wait and see!”
“Bold words for such a youngster.” Clayton continued to clash. “All right, then, prove your worth! Hyah!” He kicked his horse’s sides, allowing wind to blast through his hair as he hurried forward.
Behind, Majestic Man asked, “Why are you running away, coward? Are you scared of just one man?” He put his sword on his belt so that he could have a good grip on the reins and chase his enemy.
Up front, Clayton smirked. Putting up his sword, he peeked down at the Ax’s Chest, waiting for the opportunity to get Majestic Man and his horse.
The young hero halted the Freiberger and patted him on the back. “All right, Despereaux, let’s make Maglin Town proud! Giddy up!”
Despereaux nodded, and he and Majestic Man advanced toward Clayton.
Seeing them, the lieutenant clenched his teeth and cursed under his breath. He took one hand off the reins and pulled back, the horse stopping. Then he shouted at Majestic Man and Despereaux, “I’ve had enough of you, Majestic Man! Let’s see who the real hero is now!” With that sentence, he hurled the chest behind his horse’s rump. It landed before Despereaux, cutting off his path.
The horse cringed. Tripping over the chest, he fell onto his side and took his rider with him.
Smashing the ground, Majestic Man closed his eyes and started to roll. His head hit a rock, immediately knocking him out.
Despereaux quickly got up and hurried into the woods, leaving his injured rider behind.
Clayton turned his horse and returned to the Ax’s Chest. Reaching it, he dismounted and tied his horse to a tree. He then prepared to pick up the chest, but before he could, his eyes rolled over to Majestic Man.
He lay on his back, as still as a rock.
Sneering, Clayton said, “He’s unconscious! Perfect!” Reaching behind him, he drew a crossbow and searched for an arrow. He found one in his pocket and drew it, placing it in the bow.
Still sneering, Clayton rested his finger on the trigger and tiptoed to Majestic Man. Soon hovering over him, he prepared to pull the trigger and swayed back and forth.
Just before Clayton could shoot the arrow, a horse whinny was heard, and Despereaux leaped out of the woods. He cried out and jumped back on two legs, waving his hooves. He hurried to his master and hopped before him.
Clayton jumped back, and Despereaux again brayed. His front hooves knocked the crossbow out of Clayton’s hand. Despereaux backed him up to a tree, stomping on the crossbow as he did so. It snapped into two pieces.
“My crossbow!” Clayton shouted, but he had nowhere to escape.
Constantly rearing, Despereaux shouted at him through horse language, “How dare you hurt my master! Nobody hurts him unless they want every bone in their body broken!” He twisted his head, and his eyes landed on his rider, still out.
Just seeing him, Despereaux became even more agitated. He picked Clayton up with his nose and carried him to a small lake that hid behind some trees. He dropped him into the water.
Clayton attempted to climb out, but Despereaux kicked him and knocked him back down. He neighed so loud that the entire forest shook.
Clayton’s head started to spin.
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