09-26-2026, 12:13 PM
Knight
you're in the walls that I made with crosses and frames
He’s proud, but you’d expect that wouldn’t you? I mean, seeing who his Father was, he was bound to be. Yes, Knight is proud, but not in the way that proved arrogance. No, not like that.
Knight’s pride came with honor, and distinction. A recipe derived from his Sire, even though he never knew him; even though all he knew were stories, and memories passed along to him from the lips of another. He knew his Father in pieces—in borrowed recollections, in the shape of a man already gone—and perhaps that was enough. Enough for a son to make something of the legacy left behind.
A legacy that was fire and ash.
The Chamber found him before he knew it, his mulberry mass pressing itself into the copse of pine and taking a moment to scent the air with a hefty breath. Sooty nostrils wide and flaring as the raucous sound of bird flight fought for notice in the cluster of boughs above him. Knight allowed himself a pause, watching, and waiting, but when nothing immediate met him he exchanged his patience for expectation.
As if they could hear him, know what he inwardly projected, the dense pine pillars opened the way before him, and he was no longer alone with the deepening shadows of the forest.
”I was always led to believe that the ravens were the sentinels of the wood,” he mused, and when he spoke his voice was clear and strong, if not faintly dismissive. A pair of hazel eyes found the feathered guards lacking in such prowess, and he pointedly allowed his gaze to float towards the fallen feathers that now rested carelessly against the pine littered ground.
Knight’s pride came with honor, and distinction. A recipe derived from his Sire, even though he never knew him; even though all he knew were stories, and memories passed along to him from the lips of another. He knew his Father in pieces—in borrowed recollections, in the shape of a man already gone—and perhaps that was enough. Enough for a son to make something of the legacy left behind.
A legacy that was fire and ash.
The Chamber found him before he knew it, his mulberry mass pressing itself into the copse of pine and taking a moment to scent the air with a hefty breath. Sooty nostrils wide and flaring as the raucous sound of bird flight fought for notice in the cluster of boughs above him. Knight allowed himself a pause, watching, and waiting, but when nothing immediate met him he exchanged his patience for expectation.
As if they could hear him, know what he inwardly projected, the dense pine pillars opened the way before him, and he was no longer alone with the deepening shadows of the forest.
”I was always led to believe that the ravens were the sentinels of the wood,” he mused, and when he spoke his voice was clear and strong, if not faintly dismissive. A pair of hazel eyes found the feathered guards lacking in such prowess, and he pointedly allowed his gaze to float towards the fallen feathers that now rested carelessly against the pine littered ground.