It was a strange time to ride, but the last light in the village had dimmed a few hours ago, and all the curtains had been drawn. Now he was sure that he wouldn’t be seen and had chosen to disappear under the inky night sky. The figure was wearing a billowing black cloak, and a silver dagger was just visible tucked into his belt. His hands were covered by thick leather gloves.

The disgruntled neighing of a jet-black stallion trailed behind him. The horse didn't belong to him, and from its sheer size he could only guess that it belonged to one of the nobles. He didn't mind stealing from them. It was hardly like they needed the dozen horses in their stables. The man straddled onto the horse’s back. He didn't have enough time to gear up, so he was riding bareback.

He forced the horse into a slow trot, until he approached the point where the path narrowed and was covered with trees. He grasped some strands of the horse’s mane as he prepared to speed up.

Suddenly, a large raven swooped down to greet him, cawing loudly as it recognised him and settled on his shoulder. He kicked the horse into a gallop, and the deafening crunch of its horseshoes on the gravel broke the silence as he sped out of the town, invisible in the eerie darkness whilst everyone slept.

Hyweg had spent all of his living memory at the docks. Admittedly, that grew signifcantly less impressive when considering he was only fifteen. Regardless, he knew their layout, the sounds and the ships in a startling detail. It was for this reason that, as dawn broke, he staggered from his house, eyes still closed and picked his way towards the end of the dock. Sailors were infamous for their promptness, for their ability to rise before dawn and sleep beyond the fall of the sun. However, Hyweg was confident he would be alone upon the quietly complaining wooden dock that morning. The silt stretched out past the structure, ships listed in the mud, awaiting the steadily rising tide. It would be hours before water milled around the dock at a depth significant enough that sailors could launch out towards the horizon. No sailor would arrive so much earlier than necessary, they had other matters to attend to. It was surprising then, that as Hyweg wiped the weariness from his eyes and grimaced at his pounding headache, a product of the night before, he connected with something. Fur... His gaze darted upwards and he drew quickly backwards. In the centre of the dock, staring stoutly out to sea, was a man astride an enormous, midnight mount. Hyweg blinked, once twice, half expecting the man and horse to vanish, or the entire surrounding to fade as he awoke from some drunkards dream. Instead, they remained persistent in reality and the man turned slowly towards him. A black cloak unfurled from his shoulders, resting down the flanks of the horse, billowing out occasionally like a sail at sea. Beyond his cloak, there was hardly anything immediately unnatural of the man's appearance. His clothing was simple, a white shirt and ragged trousers. Hyweg thought he could see something, a faint glimmer of light reflecting off metal, underneath the cloak but it was impossible to pick out with certainty. He wore boots, black, matching the style he appeared to be aiming for, and had clearly been riding bareback.

"Boy," the man greeted him, his voice disconcertingly emotionless, "I need passage."

Hyweg stared at him, taking in his shifting gaze. As he went to reply, a shadow descended over them both and he sprang back instinctively. Following the sudden flourish of movement, Hyweg's eyes fell upon a raven, abnormally large, landing with grace upon the man's shoulder. Immediately, he forgot what he'd originally been going to say. In fact, he forgot how to say anything at all.

"Passage," repeated the man, as if a raven alighting abruptly on his shoulder was a perfectly natural occurence, "I require passage."

"You..." Hyweg's mouth opened and closed, failing to form a coherent sentence, "That's a raven..."

The man, unblinking, voice just as devoid of emotion as before, looked down upon Hyweg. "Astute," was his only remark.

Although Hyweg was too dazed to be certain, he was fairly certain the man was being sarcastic.

"It...." Hyweg fainly wrested back control of his sense, "You need passage?"

"I do," agreed the man simply, "Immediately."

"Immediately..." repeated Hyweg, glancing to the side and at the conspicous lack of water, "Passage to where."

"There," the man pointed directly at the horizon and the streams of crimson marking the rising sun.

"The horizon?" questioned Hyweg in confusion, "I... There won't be any ships leaving for hours yet."

Suddenly, the man's horse drummed its hooves in impatience, bucking slightly. Hyweg sprang backwards as if he'd been cut, almost toppling off the edge of the dock in the process. The horse, jet black, eyes coldly appraising Hyweg, turned languidly towards him. From the stunning size of the horse, and the immaculate sleakness of its coat, Hyweg was sure it was noble bred. But that was unlikely. The backwater town Hyweg lived within was scarcely ever visited by the nobility. The docks, no more than a collection of ramshackle wooden structures stretching feebly out into the sea, were the town's greatest achievement. The nobility preferred to remain aloof from the subjects anyway, constructing sprawling mansion and complexes of gardens in the centre of forests and rolling fields. The nearest mansion had to be a six hour ride from the town, at the most favourable pace. And, though he was certainly unusual, the man did not seem like a Lord.

"I require passage," pointed out the man again, as if by simply repeating the demand, the sea might arrive sooner.

"I... What can I do?" asked Hyweg helplessly.

The man frowned and, in one effortless, fluid motion, swung down from his horse, feet striking a heavy chord against the wooden dock. He strode forward, leaving the horse which watched him with uncaring eyes, shifting with an irritated agitation. Hyweg trailed behind the man nervously, watching as he looked down the edge of the dock, considering the ships and boats in turn. Most were entirely abandoned, a few had a collection of sailors, most hungover, scattered across the deck, looking out at the rising sun. After a time, the man reached the end of the dock and set his gaze upon a tiny, oak boat. It was a rowing boat, nothing more, used to transport sailors to their ships. He could not have chosen a vessel less suitable for seafaring. However, it was in the rising water, at the base of a ladder made more of seaweed than its original iron.

"This will do," the man pointed to the rowing boat, his raven inclining its head in mock consideration.

Hyweg opened his mouth and closed it again. Then, he turned back and stared at the man's horse.

"She won't fit on the boat," he pointed out.

The man glanced back at the horse and shrugged. "Keep her."

"I..." Hyweg's eyes widened in pure disbelief, "Keep the horse?"

"I have no further need of her," replied the man, "Thank you for your help."

With that, he dropped off the end of the dock, ignoring the perfectly good ladder at his disposal. Cloak rushing up behind him like a sliver of night brought to the dawn, he fell deadly straight into the rowing boat. It rocked precariously at his heavy landing, and for a moment Hyweg thought it might even sink. Instead, the man rebalanced it, threw off the rope binding it to the dock and, his raven springing off his shoulder and settling down at a seat on his side, took up the oars. Hyweg could do nothing but stare as the man resolutely began to pull the oars through the inky water and drive himself, slowly but resiliently, through the lapping waves and towards the horizon. By the time he was out of sight, Hyweg was far from the only man on the dock, and the tide was almost at a point where the lightest ships could sail. All the same, he was still watching the man row out to the horizon in absolute astonishment. At last, once his dulled outline faded to a speck, and then blurred with the sun and sea, he turned away. And found himself face to face with a thoroughly annoyed horse.