It was a beautiful afternoon on the wastelands. As nice as a day on the desert can be. The setting sun could inspire poets, as would the tranquility of these lands. The only sounds heard was the blowing of winds. But as insipid as the wastelands were, that vast expanse of barren nothingness was bad news. Somewhere deep within it something had gone terribly wrong and many were killed. Clockworks spreading havoc sightings were reported.
And that was all Anita needed to hear from that caravan before resupplying and paying the terrified nomads. The cowards were in a definite hurry toward the county she had just left to, according to them, "find shelter from that mechanical demon". Anita would not flee from a mechanical abomination, though, specially if going to the site of the incident meant a rendezvous with the bastards that had taken all away from her. She had not let any of it go and, instead, cultivated those inner dark feelings, her mind was one-track now, she had no goals other than taking revenge. And those twisted desires fed her power; she would serve herself of the infinite sea of the dead to that single purpose.
Her only ties to this world was her aging but still gifted with insurmontable celerity white stallion.
"Easy," she said, gently patting the colorless horse's back with her hands. "Our revenge may come at last. I need your speed."
As if acknowledging it's owner words, the horse's body stiffened and readied itself for a run. Anita spurred the animal and took hold of the reins firmly. Rider and horse sprinted to the mountains.