Windmills

They were very explicit with me about not leaving the resort. I just assumed it was because patrons had been mugged, or gotten lost or realized the truth. I did not expect to stumble upon a faceless priest, praying over the paralyzed Knight who had fallen fighting windmills. Less did I expect the mourners; these people had not come to laugh. Perhaps they finally realize he was a hero. As I lingered, I tried to find Sancho. I expected him by the Knight’s side, relishing in his liege’s final breaths. He was no where to be seen. Perhaps he was mounting the head of the giant as the proof of what had happened.

The trip has been fine so far. I’ll make sure to bring home a bottle of wine.