The riders churn up the sodden grass. Horses snorting, ragged breaths. The eclipse baths them in amber fire, not unlike that catching in their minds from the fear. Close, even-handed, promising a kiss. The trial failed. People didn’t believe in the grand scales of justice. The colour palette of skin, limb, mind and faith squashed ever tighter by the notches of authority. The moon breaks free of the shadow. The sun is always watching.