The Hero in Autumn

(The prompt was "Orange" and Zee left paint chips of many shades of orange to inspire. She also left bits of text for the more textual writer. As some of my admirers know, autumn is the setting of nearly all my stories. One of the clips of text listed adjectives like hopeful, courageous, longing, and such, and I could not help but think of the Knight. I'd promised myself to explore the other genres, but I indulged myself and wrote this piece as my first piece for the writing circles.)

The Hero in Autumn

            The girl’s marigold skirt tossed in the cool October breeze. A crown of daisies adorned her brown, and when the petals tickled her skin, the Queen of Flowers giggled. She rose from her throne of golden foliage and danced to her brother’s side.

            “Justin,” she cheered in her sing-song voice, “look what I made!”

            Her brother, nearly a man and already a Knight of the Realm, smiled to the girl. His calloused hand patted her copper curls, careful to spare the flowers. Justin was a handsome lad, somewhat short but as dexterous a mountain lion. His hazelnut eyes glowed in the belighted horizon.

            “It’s time!” a voice called from below. The fires of the sky reflected off chainmail suits. “Justin, let’s go!”

            The girl hugged him with all of her young might. “Wait,” she beckoned. “I’m scared I’ll never see you again.”

            He kissed her forehead beneath the ring of flowers and knelt. “It’s only a month, sister,” he said in his soft honey voice. He lifted one of the frills of her skirts. “Try not to ruin this one in the meanwhile, and find us the best pumpkins for carving.”

            Her chin quivered, and Justin held it between two fingers. No words would set her breaking heart. The girl clenched her eyes.

            “Come back safe!” she demanded.

            “I promise.” Justin stood and started down the slope. “Be good!”

            “I promise,” she whispered.

            His face became a silhouette against the amber sky. His shadow joined those of the other soldiers, and together, they journeyed into the fiery horizon.

            The girl hugged her belly and lay on the hill. A cool breeze raised the hairs on her neck and arms, and one by one, her flowers wilted. Day turned to night. She sang softly to herself:

                        Be brave, Daughters and Sons of the Land,

                        When you hear the thundering war band,

                        Trust in the Knight of the Just King,

                        Set aside your trifles and your longing,

                        For wrongs must be righted by nobler blood,

                        And so they march through haunted wood.

            The girl slept in a bed of crimson and gold. She opened her eyes to the harvest moon and a sky lit by golden stars. She thought of her brother; he was beneath this same moon, somewhere. The cold embraced her, and she slept among red foxes and ancient owls.

            For thirty nights and twenty fiery horizons she slept, until the first snow. The leaves crumbled under the weight of whiteness, and the cold breeze became an arctic chill.

            Justin looked up the snowy hill and climbed to the little cottage. He could already smell pumpkin pie. He could barely touch the door before it slammed open, and a skinnier sister clung to him. He threaded the last lily of the valley into her mottled hair and kissed her brow again.