“Tell me about your memory again.” his back. Soon, the knight was fast asleep.
A pulse of motion inside the helmet. The knight had blinked.
“What does it matter if you have already heard it?” She rose and stretched, relishing the warmth of the fire as she
loosened her muscles. She did not sleep, not truly. When she
did rest, she was remembering, remembering the forest and
the plains, remembering the deer and birds, remembering
dancing amidst the green spring of the world. In memory, she
could outrun all creatures of earth and air, could outrun the
very wind itself. Run, and feel the cool breeze upon her face.
Run, and follow the hidden path towards the rising mountain.
She added a stick to the fire. “Sometimes it matters. Sometimes
it matters very much.” The flames crackled.
“I was there,” the knight said at last. “I defied the storm and
the thunder. I was there.” His hand clawed at the hilt of his
sword. “Night fell. A red moon rose in the sky. And then—”
Pity pierced her heart, but she knew she needed to ask. “And
then?”
“Oblivion.” The voice of a child. A child alone in the dark.
“You still cannot remove your armor?”
Something disturbed her from her memory in the middle of
the night. She blinked and shook her head. The fire had died
down into flickering embers. Pale moonlight gleamed on the
knight’s armor from where he crouched across the fire. The
howl shattered the silence of the night, echoed in her ears.
She heard the cry of the hunting beast, the rush of the hunt
and the crunch of ice and warm blood dripping from fanged
jaws. The knight reached for the hilt of his sword.
Steel fingers reached up towards his face. Metal screamed
against metal as he pulled at the steel
cage that concealed everything but the In memory, she could out-
movement of his eyes. What color were run all creatures of earth and
his eyes? She could not be sure.
air, could outrun the very
“No,” the knight replied. “I cannot.”
wind itself. Run, and feel the
cool breeze upon her face.
A howl rang out in the forest, reaching
up above the trees to the bright shining moon. The hound
raised its head. The horse snorted. She added another stick
to the fire.
“The wolves sound close.”
“They are not wolves.” Her voice was so soft it barely rose
above the crackling of the flames. “They will not trouble us.”
“I can remember this too,” the knight said. “I can remember
wolves howling in the dark.”
There was silence for a long moment. The knight’s right hand
made a steel fist and then opened once more. She rose from
where she sat by the fire, and its light shone off her hair, more
brilliant than even the moon.
“You should rest,” she said. “I will keep watch. No harm will
come to you.” His armor whined in protest as he lay down on
32 Fall 2019
“No,” she said. “No. Do not be afraid.”
The looming helm did not move. She
reached for the knight’s steel hand and held
it. The metal was cold at first, cold enough to
burn, but soon warmed at her touch.
Silence. The hound had awoken as well, and
sniffed at the air before circling the clearing. She watched the
hound move, and felt the knight watch it as well. The hound
padded back to her side, eyes liquid pools in the moonlight.
She let go of the knight’s steel fingers and ran her hands
through the thick fur and smiled.
IV. The knight watched the lady and the hound for several
moments. Then he stretched out once more on his back,
ignoring the grinding snarl of the joints of his armor. He
tasted the memory of blood and cold iron. The howl. The
howl, and the moon of blood.
Before he fell asleep once more, he heard the lady speak. Not
to him, but to herself.
“I cannot see,” she murmured. “Are you there? I walked the
path. I stood and watched the mountain rise.”