The town square teems with functional chaos, every corner writhing with movement, noise, the stink of sweat and spiced meat. Merchants bark out prices, waving goods overhead as passersby dodge their stares and honeyed words. A rat weaves through the crowd's ankles with expert agility as an orange cat barrels behind it, paws scritching across cobblestone. Even the air shudders, stirred by the scene's vibrant pulse.
Through the middle of it all rides Sir Channing, his whiskey-colored hair trailing behind him in the wind. The crowd parts before his valiant grey steed as he leads his fellow knights back through the city with his shoulders squared and head held high.
"That's Sir Channing!" a boy gasps, barely remembering to keep his voice down. "He's a hero. He saved the castle!"
The eyes of the girl next to him light up. "I'm gonna be just like him someday."
"Girls can't be knights, stupid," her friend snarks, giving her an odd look.
"I'm not stupid. You're stupid."
"Am not!"
"Are too!" The girl lunges at him, and the two vanish into the crowd.
A baker leans toward a nearby customer, lowering his voice. "Odd, ain't it? How little we really know about the lad?"
The man nods. "I don't know a single person who's seen him without armor on. And," he adds, leaning in close as though divulging a great secret, "I heard that he and the princess are involved."
The baker's eyes go wide. "Involved? That'd explain why he's so keen on being in the castle."
A third person joins the conversation. "Mark my words, he's no mere knight. Blood tells. There must be some royal relation— why else would King Thom allow some scribe's apprentice to rise so quickly up the ranks?"
"Wasn't he involved in thwarting that rebellion a couple years back?" inquires the baker.
"Sure, but is that really worthy of knighthood? A bag of coin— a title, maybe. But not a sword and a position at the king's left hand."
The baker's brows furrow and he crosses his arms. "S’pose you’re not wrong… but hang your hat on that, and you might wake up bald. Sir Channing's got more secrets than we can account for."
The fewer facts they know, the more stories they invent. Sir Channing’s silence makes him a legend.
The knight rides onward as though oblivious to the wondering stares and curious whispers in his wake. A long quest to the neighboring kingdom had drained him of not only strength, but warmth. The castle tugs at his heart, calling him like a dog to the hearth.
Guards lower the castle drawbridge as Sir Channing approaches, granting him access to the impressive structure. A brief smile crosses his face at the sight of it; its mighty stone pillars and looming windows welcome him back. Others consider the castle foreboding and ominous, but to Sir Channing, only one word describes it: home. He's been away far too long.