There was once a time he rode for a woman; He didn’t remember it. There was once a time he rode under the high noon sun; He didn’t remember it either. He didn’t remember the time he rode in fury to his demise, he didn’t remember the gunfire and the pain as the bullets tore into him. He didn’t remember the feel of the air as it rushed through his hair. He didn’t remember the burn in his heart from loss. He didn’t remember the past. But that didn’t matter for him now. Now? Now he knew fire. He knew Anger. He knew how they danced together under the surface of his satin shirt, he knew how they fueled him to ride harder, go faster, to ride with more FURY. Because, just like before in a time that he did not remember, just like a love he had long forgotten, something precious had been taken from him; A treasure. Stolen from under his nose, from out of his hands, something he held near and dear to him. And that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. Take not from the Highwayman, the rider of bravery. For he will come racing after you in a pillar of flame and rage hotter than the noon-time sun in the summer….Though hell should bar the way.