Albion, ca. 1,150 BC
You are on a wide moor, featureless apart from low vegetation. It is silvery grey in the moonlight, but there is no moon in the sky, only stars, strange stars, curious constellations that you do not recognize.
A horse is ambling towards you over the heath, old and sad and tired, his ashy coat not quite white, flecked with darker spots here and there. But his gait picks up when he spots you, and his eyes brighten.