The night of Cassandra.
The dim yellow lights stretched out shadows, which were cast onto the walls, turning into the cold town's nocturnal landscape. The yawning sheriff held a butter lamp, walking through the streets and alleys in a thick windbreaker, with the sound of leather boots trampling and squeezing through the mud blending seamlessly with the snoring from within houses, composing a symphony for slumber.
In the night, an intrusive stranger arrived.
The continuous clopping of horse hooves echoed. Behind the visitor, the awakened residents of Cassandra lit their household lamps, peering at the noisy guest through slightly ajar windows. However, they discovered nothing, only the calmed wind and mud prints on the ground bore witness to someone passing by.
The row by row of lights turning on gave people a curious illusion, as if the knight brought light to the townsfolk.
