folklore
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In a kingdom in the north there stands a solitary knight. He sits atop his horse high on a hill. He keeps one hand on his blade, always prepared to fight. For his king, a foe he’d swiftly kill. His free hand gently strokes the long mane of his brindle steed. A teardrop forms so…
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When first I saw him, I was a young man, no more than twenty and three. He said she left me because of my past. Her future lay not with me. I asked for salvation, and he replied, “With me now you must surely stand.” He gave me a blade that I pressed to my…