Ashen Manes, Hollow Skies

Beneath a sky that never fully remembers the sun, the horses wander—silent, spectral, and burdened with a sorrow older than the soil that receives their hooves. This album is not a collection of songs, but a procession… a slow, relentless march through fields where time has rotted and memory clings like fog.

Each note resounds like the echo of iron striking bone—distant, hollow, and inescapable. You will hear the breathing of unseen beasts in the dark, the restless shifting of manes stirred by a wind that carries no warmth, only whispers. These are not the horses of pasture and light, but of forgotten roads and unmarked graves; creatures that have outlived their riders and now roam in search of something they cannot name.

There is a weight here—a suffocating stillness between each movement—as though the earth itself listens, unwilling to interrupt the mourning. Hooves fall upon hollow ground, and with every step, something buried stirs. Not life… no, never life—but the memory of it, twisted and half-decayed.

To listen is to trespass.

To continue is to descend.

And by the final track, you may find yourself among them—wandering, nameless, beneath that same eternal dusk… where the horses never cease their mournful, endless ride.

March 2026

Turin