There, he saw patterns of the soul, his own, he realized. A grave laid at the end of the path. Ruling from the tomb, he said, was a great darkness, with no concern for chivalry or the rules of the game. I remarked that appearances and other deceits were to be expected in life. The knight nodded and continued on. With the sun setting, the knight found himself racing the night to escape the memory of war which threatened to overwhelm him. The darkness dangled the needs of Earth before him as bait. The knight nearly succumbed, but escaped, but not without mortal wounds. “And now I meet you,” the knight concluded. A crowd, visitors from down the street, had gathered to listen to the knight. “This was my first crusade, and shall be my last crusade, for I am dead before I live.” Then the crusader faded from sight, and the crowd disappeared, and I awoke. Now, each night, I dream of home, for I know I will never see the crusader again. |