Now then, my gipsy child; death or glory

While I don't have Susannah's excuse of being screamingly happy for not updating-I have something almost as good. Mervyn Peake.

When he came to the Tower of Flints his mare was waiting. He mounted, shook the reins, and moved away at once through the inky shadows that lay beneath the walls.
After a long while he came out into the brilliant light of the hunter's moon and sometime later he realized that unless he turned about in his saddle there was no cause for him to see his home again. At the back the castle climbed into the night. Before him there was spread a great terrain.
He brushed a few strands of his hair away from his eyes, and jogged the grey mare to a trot and then into a canter, and finally with a moonlit wilderness before him, to a gallop.
And so, exulting as the moonlit rocks fled by him, exulting as the tears streamed over his face - with his eyes fixed excitedly upon the blurred horizon - and the battering of the hoofbeats loud in his ears, Titus rode out of his world.

Now do you understand?