Trumpets blared. The enemy was upon us.
My son, Sir Garrett, parted the folds of cloth that served as a door to my tent. A cold as it was outside, his hair was damp with sweat. His armor was dented, tarnished from previous battles. On his tunic, stitched with gold thread, a cross. His sword was drawn.
“Father,” he yelled. “Rise and make ready for war. The goblins have crept from their caves under the cover of night. They attack. We must hold them here until dawn.”
My son, my boy…now a man, now my hero. I leapt from my bed. Pulled on my boots and the same tunic my son wore, red with a golden cross. I pulled my sword from its sheath and started for the tent opening.
“Your armor, father,” scolded my son. ” Tis a battle we go to. Prepare.”
“Armor will not alter our fate, my son. Tonight, we live or die. Even an armor fashioned with dragon scales could not change that.”
Garrett smiled and turned toward the night. I followed him.
Less than fifteen minutes later…the clash of steel.
- Daily Prompt: Fifteen Minutes (ladyboyprompt.wordpress.com)
- Daily Prompt: Fifteen Minutes (dailypost.wordpress.com)
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