The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts.

-Marcus Aurelius
~~~

The water was shining with the silvery scales of the many rainbow trout hiding in the pool. The boy had been trying to catch them since the beginning of the week. The sun, shy this early in the season, was warm enough, the morning, promising, full of adventures for the boy. Seating on the big boulder hovering above the river, hidden by the woods, he was king in this green and quiet kingdom.

Nothing really happened in the village, or the woods for that mattered. Two weeks before, the cow had died. The Lord had not been too happy, but he brought sometime after a new one. They would have milk again.

The boy did not care much about drinking it though, but, if there was milk again, there would be butter. With Lady Luck on his side, he could pilfer a good chunk of it. He would then spread it on the coarse black bread that was all he usually eat in the morning. Not that he had much more than the dreaded black bread the rest of the day.

Reflecting on the sweetness of the promised golden creaminess, the boy did not hear the rider approaching the water. Though the horse was big, he made no noise. Neither did the man on top, even wearing the bulky dark chainmail under a black robe as he was. The man and his mount offered a ghostly appearance, the boy thought, feeling dread rising in his gut.

Flattening himself on the boulder, hiding his presence, the boy observed the pair attentively. This was obviously a knight; but not a dòmne, he thought. Perhaps the man had been one of Raymond de St Gilles' followers.

One day, he had heard his mother talking about those many men who went to war on the other side of the sea. The name of their lord's heir had then been mentioned. From his eavesdropping, he remembered a story about drowning men and capsized boats-whatever this meant-and that the son surely met his fate. Since that day, their dòmne became sad and old, and lonely.

"Gartz? Are you from Casthelac?" The man did not budge one iota. He kept still, facing the water, observing the slow dance of the rainbow trout as he addressed the boy.

"I am, sir knight. Do you know the place?"

"I have heard of it..."

The silence fell back in the quiet scenery. The boy, unsure of the situation remained silent. He had so many questions to ask, though he feared the man and his beast; feared they had been sent from the afterlife to kidnap curious and nosy boys, as often is mama would tell him.

"I am nothing like a ghost, gartz. Do not fear me." The boy did not realized he had voiced his scare in a mumbling mumbo jumbo the man somehow understood. "Whilst it feels like it, at times..." The knight turned his head toward the boulder where the boy was now standing straight, though trembling, like a twig. His eyes were devoid of life. The man was dead inside, with no hope.

"Show me the way!" The Knight did not wait for the boy to reply. He started his horse toward the dim path under the trees.

~~~

The courtyard at the foot of the keep was animated. The boy watched with envy the group of older children playing a rough game of ball, catching and bouncing the leather-clad goat blown-bladder with the rage of knights in the mêlée. Their tournament of sort, though, ended soon as the giant horse appeared. The excitement of the game quietened, just an instant, to be replaced by curiosity about the newcomer.

As he advanced, slowly, as seemed to be his habit, the boy remarked, the man reached the centre of the courtyard. Lowering himself to the ground, in the same economy of movement he showed previously, he dismounted in the sudden quietness, giving an uncanny feeling to the situation when a disturbing sound resonated.

The knight's mount had stepped on the ball.

The boy, observing the situation, was tempted to laugh, but the anticipation the coming of this unknown knight brought left him silent.

The heavy wooden door opened in the silence of the courtyard. An old man appeared, standing still, an expectant air vibrating in his eyes. The dòmne was awakening, the boy remarked.

The light of life in in his eyes did not last long, however, as the Lord realised the coming man was no son of his.

"Please, do accept my hospitality, Sir Knight," the older man welcomed him in a flat tone.

~~~

"Is it the truth?"

The Lord and the knight had shared a meal, as the rules of hospitality prescribed. During the solemn exchange, the younger man told a story worthy of the best trobairitz's song.

"It is, my Lord. All night, all night he repeated again, and again, 'I gotta make it! I gotta make it!' There had been also other thing he said, in the tormented dream his fever had brought him. Things like 'enemy...enemy...enemy...' and 'we got fire'..."

The man was recounting his meeting with a young and hopeful knight, after a particularly violent battle. They had been sharing a tent with many others as their wounds were being healed. They had exchanged promises. The first to leave would go and see the family of the other.

"So can I get a little bit of hope?" The Lord asked in a quivering voice.

"You know you not lonely anymore, my Lord," the knight reassured him. "He will soon be coming back. He even told he would bring back with him a contraption that produced an amazing black beverage, when we were under the healers' tent. Though it had been broken, he was looking forward to make it work again..."

~~~

Each day provides its own gifts.

-Marcus Aurelius

====================

Note:

This story has been written for the Team Up Challenge by Challenge Corner.

The team for this challenge, The Hack Pack, was comprised of elveloy, Reffster, elaroadshow and myself.

The rules to follow where "A broken coffee machine in an hospital", "A deflated basket ball" and a song, Dope from BTS.

I added reference to the prompts in italic, which, for this piece of historical fiction had me wracking my brain quite a lot...

The story is 991 words as defined by Wattpad, excluding this note.