Saturday, April 18, 2015

Chapter 3 A Knight Of Adventure

A Knight Of Adventure

The night bristled coldly, the Knight sat there boldly.
The warmth of his steed, kept him well through it all.
Tho sleep came unbidden, they both were well hidden.
So dawn found them resting, when it came to call.
Regi awakened, his thirst soon was slakened.
And that of his steed, in a rivulet nigh.
Back into the saddle, full dressed then for battle.
They went on their way, er the sunlight was high.
Riding more wary, but heart ever merry.
For nothing seemed brighter, that morn in the wood.
No sign of the Creatures, with terrible features.
Just birds singing sweetly, made Regi feel good.
Then he heard a thunder, his eyes filled with wonder,
A most noble Hart, dashing boldly, flashed by.
He then knocked an arrow, but swift as a sparrow,
It passed from his sight, in the blink of an eye.
While he stared astounded, a bugle was sounded,
Then men in pale green, flashed as quickly away.
They ignored this stranger, as if in no danger,
Still plying their bugle, they went on their way.
His mind was a’whirring, his heart in him stirring,
The music of bugle horn called on the air.
The urge of the punter, to follow the hunter,
Was then almost more than, poor Regi could bear.
But he’d heard the stories, these hunts and their glories,
Left Knights without castles, forever to roam.
The Hunters were, “Fey Folk,” to follow, was a yoke,
That bound men to hunt, and to never go home.
Sighing now deeply, as pathway rose steeply,
Regi our hero, turned sadly away.
For tho it was magic, he thought it was tragic,
That he could not hunt, the fine Hart on this day.
The day seemed now dimmer, his joy a mere glimmer,
The forest a gloomy, disparaging place.
The sunlight had left it, “The Hunt,” had bereft it,
Of all of its songbirds, and sweet mornings grace.
A more sober Regi, now feeling quite edgy,
Took a faint path, that wound on through the wood.
His thoughts of a Dragon, and all his past braggin’,
Now made him ashamed, tho his motives were good.
I thought I knew danger, lived life as a, “Ranger,”
But I see I’m soft, from the tame life I’ve led.
If I am not bolder, I’ll soon be no older,
I’ll be cold as stone, and most certainly dead.
Thus, as he was thinking, he smelled something stinking,
It wrinkled his nose, and it watered his eyes.
He soon spied a dwelling, a great rotted swelling,
A mound of dead carcasses, hard to disguise.
Now there was real trouble, mixed into the rubble,
It looked like the den, of an Orkyne, or worse.
He’d not be the winner, if he stayed to dinner,
He’d have wounds aplenty, or more then to nurse.
His nerves sorely shaken, his breath nearly taken,
He and poor Pero, traversed more a mile.
He said of it ever, I thought I would never,
Again breath fresh air, nor again wear a smile.
The day wore on longer, the darkness grew stronger,
The sun set dull red, just behind a high hill.
But Regi the ranger, rode on ‘til the danger,
Was miles away, and the night time was still.
A cave in the mountain, behind a mist fountain,
Gave shelter that night, to both Regi and steed.
There he wrote the story, tho some of it gory,
Of Naguls poor death, and of what did the deed.

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