There is a knight telling stories to a little boy wearing a toy sword at his hip. They are great, grand stories that make the boy dream of all the places he’ll one day see.
“I’m going to be a knight,” the boy tells him.
“A good one, I bet,” says the knight.
The knight musses the boy’s hair and turns his attention to the farmer on his right. The farmer buys him another drink for bringing news of his son.
“Just glad his mother didn’t live to hear this,” the farmer says. The knight drinks and tells the farmer a few stories more about his son in the war. “That’s my boy,” the farmer says. “Let me buy you another drink.”
“To your boy.”
“To my boy.”
They both drink in remembrance of him.
The knight tells one of his stories to the doe-eyed girl at the bar. Later on, she’ll follow him upstairs and break her mother’s heart because she knows if she does her part, he’ll take her away and protect her from the war that’s coming. She’ll ask him, “You’ll protect me, right?”
“Of course I will, I’m a knight.”
As the knight tells his stories, the little boy will creep upstairs to the knight’s room. The boy will find the knight’s armor without a scratch on it. The boy will hold the knight’s sword that doesn’t look like it’s ever been used.
And the boy will know, downstairs, there is a knight telling stories.
Ty Karnitz writes in Florida, USA.