The rider appeared every evening just before sunset. They were a ghostly figure on a pale horse, washed in sunset colors ahead and silver moonlight behind.
I spent weeks trying to catch them, but their mount was too swift, their steps too sure, and by the time the Sun slipped below the horizon, they were gone.
One night I lay in wait and finally managed to catch the phantom. The moment I wrapped my hand around their wrist, the sunset paused.
I realized at that moment that the rider not chasing the sunset but heralding the coming of night.

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