The Knight, Snowy White

The Knight who Emerged From Clouds

The cold winter bit on the hands of the wanderer, trudging through the grasslands surrounding his keep. He had only one request, from the one he did serve, to find the true cure, to find the world outside of here. There wasn't a clue how to get out of here, the snowy wasteland that surrounded, with only a small flame at its center. It was only a fools choice, to enter its chilling grasp, or one of desperation, given one last chance.

There was not a day that passed, that he regretted what he did. She fell to him, as much as he had to her, and taking her warm hands into his, was all it took to end it all once again. They all cried out his defeat, the court at his feet, telling the knight that he had not made his truth, all too plain to see. "There are laws," their voices warped, "you dared to cross, now relinquish your title, your fame, and your thoughts!"

Love is too trivial, love is not fair. Gossip spreads like wildfire, all throughout the air. It did not matter his true position, what he did or did not do, all that mattered to them, is what they chose to think he do. This knight so proud, so pristine in his white coats, fell to the missus with the gold in her soul. His buttons still reflected, the one he cared for, and his time by her side would be forgotten forevermore.

So out, out of these walls he was sent. To relinquish his duties unless he made amends. Brought an end to this wintery hellscape that rained, down upon this fire, upon a December day. As if man could control the weather, he was out on a fools errand. Searching for his hope in the lands of forgotten. Maybe in the distance, would sit a wizard's tower, who could bring about the summer, before it's true hour.

In the distance, a sun began to set, taking refugee itself into the snowy banks ahead. He could only hope that it would arrive once again, not hibernate like the rest, to guide him on his path, the golden chalice he needed yet. There was no stopping his progressive trail, for the world does not wait for the rest he needs. If the answers lie ahead he must continue at this pace, no slowing down, no pacing, just a constant movement ticking. Down the snow covered roads and the frost bitten trees, he must find the truth at the end of the world, hopefully right before his feet.

Yet the world seems to shake, as the movement grows slower. The moon seems full risen, and still there is no cover. All before him lays the empty fields, so vast and bleak, yet them seem to be tilting, as if they move more than his own two feet. Suddenly the wind seems to pick up its own sense, as air rushes his face, ringing through this place. Has it always been this dark? Has it always been this cold? Perhaps a rest is in order, hopefully we will be cool.