ignite

II

knightlight

"You remind of somebody I know."

"Do I, now?"

.

.

You can't change the past.

You've climbed and climbed, fought your way to the very top-a prodigy, they say. A knight.

So why do you feel so empty?

.

He absently runs an calloused hand perpetually windswept locks. His hair, a peculiar cobalt-hued anthracite, was not getting any neater.

He grumbles to himself at the trying task laid before his dirt-encrusted riding boots.

Despite the fact that his fellow knight had not been able to contact him directly, a trusted informant had passed on the message. The message notified him of the Fox's habitual haunt - on the outskirts of a neighboring village at daybreak.

"Why?"  he had asked.

"To watch the sun rise atop some lofty perch of some sort, sir," was the reply.

At the time he had been hard-pressed not to express his frustrations at such...ambiguity, but it was the only lead he had, and he would gladly take it.

Better aught than naught in any case - after all, he could not afford to fail the his Majesty, his future queen.

And so here he was, chasing the (maroon) coattails of a local legend. The Fox - elusive as their name implied and just as cunning. You didn't find the Fox unless they wanted to be found - their gender just a mystery as their identity.

Here he was, mounted upon his trusty chestnut horse Eterna and his trusty sword Lucia sheathed and strapped to his back.

(He hoped he would not have the need to unsheathe.)

He was well-armed with equal amounts of vexation (to travel all this way this early in the morning) and determination.

Even so, rising early was not an unusual occurrence among knights to perform their duties.

"Evil never rests, after all..."

He mutters mockingly under his breath, something that had been beaten into him by his instructors when startled out of sleep at the crack of dawn. Boys in barracks were roused out of their beds by less-than-conventional means.

If you survived the intensive training, you had at least a snowball's chance in summer of becoming a knight of the queen's circle, appointed for protection of the kingdom.

Such sepia-hued nostalgia was tinted with bruises from sparring hand-to-hand - knights have to defend themselves if they lose their sword.

From fists to wooden practice swords  to dulled iron blades, their weaponry evolved with their level of skill. This was accompanied by sweaty, chafing protective armor to prevent serious injury.

Outdoor survival training occurred no matter the weather - rain, shine, snow, sweltering heat. Boys were grouped together at this particular camp, and that would be that. They would have to fight, eat, sweat, spar, sleep in the same quarters and live with each other until they became Knights together - or didn't.