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Staring at the fields looking at the far stretched hazy horizon he laughs mirthlessly. His hard cold phalanges grip the reins of his horse. Back to the lands where she appears out of nooks ceaselessly. Her bright green eyes and plain brown hair, too repeatedly boring when wheat was sown. Wild oats scattered in a frenzy chase soon proved to be wicked, thorn adorned weeds. Fertility, blessing or curse, to one so young to have taken the fruit's seed. Her family died in the pendemic, never to known about her miserable plight. She pleaded, begged her one-sided love, after one night's warmth turned deathly cold like Othello's last kiss. Flee from the night's misconception of bliss. Blood flows freely like a dirty spring after he takes her to a butcher's place for the abduction. Soon night changes tune and no longer plays seduction. In the nocturnal sounds she clings tight to his stallion, forgeting the pain in his suddenly warm embrace. Only one of them feels his kiss and knows that he clings on for hours to her broken, bloodied corpse. Only one can stay to dig a grave with bare hands. Only one rides away from the town 20 miles from their birth. Only one willing choses death as his partner. Refusing to give over to false love's pure surrender. In the fields he ran away from her, where he finally realised her worth. A shot of the pistol rings clear, again. In the towns of unrequited love.