Get off that horse!

You must know that the cavalcade will stop, abruptly.

As you ride into town every day with a new horse, a series of disasters unfailingly follow. There is no sequence to the choice of horses you hitch to your ill-conceived carriages. You foolishly hope there is no consequence, either.

When you fall, a procession of riders will come and deliver no salute to your cabal. Some crows may pick the eyes of those corpses in carriages you regularly crashed on the side of road.

You must be dimly aware of the hyenas who surround your cavalcade, because they sense a kindred spirit. A depth of darkness, infused with parasitism, protected by snarls.