Alejandro rode quickly upon his magnificent white steed. The river behind him had turned white, signifying an early Mountain snow melt. Soon the river would overflow its banks and would most certainly, wipe away his village.

He donned his black mask, pulling back on the horse’s reigns. The white beauty reared up on his back legs, his front legs kicked high. As soon as his hooves hit the dry ground beneath him,
he stretched out into a full run.

The masked man barreled into the village, yelling to anyone he could see, telling them to run. The villagers raced to the highest cliff where they watched their homes and meager businesses being washed away.

One of the men turned to Alejandro and thanked him profusely, then asked,
“To whom do we owe our lives…