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Debra Wong OX2

ELC's Got Talent


The Knight

The wind with rosy cheeks blew the falling leaves of auburn and gold, playing with every tree's old and ancient branches. A figure pale and worn by the scars of war loitered around the changing forest. His armour was rusted and lacked shine and polish, the sword who saw many a war, clinked against the armour in its warm comfortable sheath.

The warrior trudged through the dirt path that was littered with freshly fallen leaves. His worn eyes drank in everything around him. A tinge of sadness glowed in his eyes. His arms hung lifelessly by his side, his face a victim from the emotionless sun that had given his face a mask of brown.

He came to a brook that flowed through a part of the forest. The worn warrior sat down clumsily on the edge of the water that sang the Song of Autumn bubbly down the winding water ways of the forest. He cupped the limpid water in his coarse hands. He washed the grime and dirt that clung to his face along the way. Then, he refilled the waterskin with the cool water, and lay on the grassy bank to rest. His eyes wandered around the forest, glancing at its inhabitants preparing themselves for the arrival of autumn.

He saw her. A maiden with slender fingers trailing through her long golden-coloured hair, luminescent white skin that glowed against the green background of the bank. Her almond-shaped eyes held dark, mysterious irises and the flawless face, completed with pink plush lips that curled slightly when she noticed his gaze on her. Her long legs moved and carried her feather-like body with light hearted skips, like a graceful doe with her proud face carried high.

"Greetings, worn warrior." Her voice was like the sound of s
ilver wind chimes that emitted a wondrous melody, charming the warrior.
"Greetings to you, fair lady," he answered. His eyes could not help glancing at her. She told him she was lost while playing at the edge of the woods. She would like him to take her home on his mighty white steed. That puzzled the knight. He did not have a white steed on his possession, but when he started to answer the maiden, a loud neigh made him turn around. He saw a white steed, stomping the ground with his hooves impatiently, not pleased that the knight did not notice him at first.

The knight helped the anonymous fair lady he met in the woods up on the magnificent, impatient white horse. With a final neigh from the beast, they rode off into the darkening sky.

The next morning, a woodcutter passing through the forest saw figures of white dancing in a clearing. Curiosity drew him nearer to them. He hid behind a tree and saw a worn knight standing in the middle of the circle of dancers. The woodcutter edged closer to have a better look at the knight, but he accidentally stepped on a twig that cracked into two, exposing his location and him as the intruding figure. The wood cutter looked on in shock as he saw the pale, mystifying faces of the dancers. Transparent, fragile gossamer glistened in the morning sun against the dancer's pale backs.

"The Fey!" he thought. His eyes saw the lifeless pale cadaver of the knight in the centre of the circle. The frightened woodcutter ran. He ran away from the clearing, away from the Fey, and spread the news of the knight's death in a town nearby. The knight's body was found and beneath the iron armour were bones with dried blood.

The moral lesson of this true incident is to never talk to strangers, you might end up like the knight.



Debra Wong, Oxford 2

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