He could smell the burnt leaves of the bonfire.

There was no flame now, but he fancied that he could see a white shadow where it had been.

Then, on the wind, came the music of the Fair.
"Tum--te--Tum...

Tum--te--Tum...

Whirr--Whirr--Whirr--Bang--Bang." Somewhere an owl cried, and then another owl answered.
He rubbed his sore hand against his trousers; then, thinking of his black horse, he smiled.
He was a free man.