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Luke Arnold
Upon returning, dejected, to the safety of his own yard, he dropped his steed off in the stable and trudged up the front steps onto the porch, sinking into a lawn chair. He removed his helmet and tossed it into a flowerpot next to him. He was just beginning to contemplate his next move when he heard the front door creak open and his mother poked her head out. It was like seeing the sun rise over a dark horizon.
“Hey, little knight. I made peanut butter sandwiches. Want one for your troubles?”
The hero smiled and agreed. Saving the neighborhood could wait. Peanut butter sandwiches could not.