I once heard a song that said that way out West, The Rain is Tess, The Fire's Jo, and they call The Wind... Mariah. I dunno about the first two but the last one was spot on. She knew this too.
Mariah that is.
She whipped up the desert sand like the fiercest storm. A wall of debris and blinding grit.
She would be mine, though she refused to believe it. A chase of wills. Months of searching had come to this chance encounter... months for but a minute.
She could run like no other, and that's why none before me had ever managed to tighten that rope around her neck, and the scars sought only to prove this.
Many a rider had heard tale about the untamable Mariah. Many assumed her a myth, the others assumed her a ghost, but to a few, she was but a fleeting encounter of hoof and dust...
wind and sweat. Blood, bones and borrowed time.
She had bested all.
She demolished my faithful steed and brought us both to the ground.
I almost gave my life to join the ranks of men who watched her ride alone into the sunset.
The song was right.
I've no plans on meeting The Rain, nor the Fire. Deja vu will not come free, 'cause she certainly stole the wind from me.