The Return Of The Magnificent Four

The rider bent low over the black stallion's mane as they sped through waving grasslands. He dismounted in a shady grove and let the stallion graze. Taking  a sip from his canteen of Perrier water, he flexed his fingers. The draw was a blur. Three SMSs sped out as one. 

"Got a long way to go Home Affairs", he murmered to the stallion as he remounted. 

Mo sat on his porch in the lotus position he'd learned during his passage to India. He seemed hardly to move as the knife thudded into the soil between the rider's boots. "Haven't lost your touch", the rider chuckled. Mo grunted: "We ride?"

"We ride",  he answered.

Not even a wisp of smoke rose from Faith's cabin among the woods. They leaned back in their saddles in the easy Mzansi rider's posture. "You can come down from the tree", the rider called. Rifle in the crook of her arm, she sailed down gracefully. "Only the three of us?" she asked. "We ride to Mokonyane's", he replied, lighting up a cheroot. "Grab a bite to eat. She's  got two lambs on the spit". 

"Just like old times", she chuckled, tightening the cinch on her saddle.

The sun was beginning to sink as they sped through grasslands, waded through creeks and ate the dust of old trails. They rode silently, each  with memories of battles fought and thoughts of  battles to come. The Saxonworld shootout, gunfight at the SONA Corral, gunsmoke drifting on the plain of Parliament.... They rode through villages, silent save for the rhythmic drumming of their horses' hooves. The villagers watched. Some crossed themselves. Even the children were subdued,  sensing that something momentous was afoot.

The last rays of the setting sun gleamed on leather and steel. Then the darkness swallowed them. . 

The Magnificent Four were back.