In one withered hand he was holding the scales, symbol of the scarcity of food that was going to become as valuable as gold.
The knees of the fourth horseman, sharp as spurs, were pricking the ribs of the pale horse.

His parchment-like skin betrayed the lines and hollows of his skeleton.

The front of his skull-like face was twisted with the sardonic laugh of destruction.

His cane-like arms were whirling aloft a gigantic sickle.

From his angular shoulders was hanging a ragged, filthy shroud.
And the furious cavalcade was passing like a hurricane over the immense assemblage of human beings.