Time is running out for Mazepa the Cossack. At first, he was sure he could lose the woman on the endless steppe, but that proved futile. Now, she is within eyeshot, and closing fast. The great river has overflown--there is nowhere to run. Atop his little crest of land, he sees her growing closer, black steed foaming.
The time has come to fight. He closest a gloved hand around the grip of his trusty saber. For twelve long years, it has served him well. As he pulls it free, the ring of the steel brings him home, to the broad sky and unending fields to the east.
"Whatever has set this woman against me," Mazepa thinks, "will cause her to pursue me to the ends of the Earth. So she must fall, so that I may live."
The woman's horse has slowed, and she has drawn her sword as well. No words are spoken between the two, as they stare a thousand yards from only fifty yards away.
Slowly at first, and then with a thunder of hooves, both horses begin their charge.
Red or Blue, /tg/?