The Black Rider by James Lovegrove
The Black Rider dismounts. His stallion, which has never been favoured with a name, stands stock-still, head low, barely flicking its tail. The Black Rider crosses over to where you lie on the ground. Rowels jingle. Leather creaks. The Black Rider hunkers down beside you.
His face is masked, sheathed in a black silk bandanna. The only part of his body visible is his eyes, and they are black too. Oh so black.