With the last of the dirt heaved upon the grave, the mound of fresh earth looked like a brown scar on the green field. Vilon lingered there for a long moment, leaning on the shovel as the finality of it all finally settled into his bones.

"I thank you all for your consideration," he said, turning back to them with a weary smile that held more sorrow than relief. "I truly do not know what I would have done had I not met you."

"Probably stood there until the moon came up," Lorry muttered, squinting at the sun as it sat like a pale, bruised eye behind the grey clouds. "Your Grace, we really cannot linger. They will be sending out watch parties soon, and next time, I fear you won’t be given such a long leash. Regardless of what the scouts say, we are still at war. The Oizenian host was broken, yes, but the scavengers and the deserters are the ones who truly haunt the roads.This is not Yarzat. The road are not safe."

Basil ignored the knight’s pragmatism, his gaze fixed on Vilon. "What will you do now?"

Vilon’s shoulders slumped. "I am a knight without a horse, my lord. What can I do?"

"You’ve got your loot," Ser Lorry suggested, gesturing vaguely toward the camp. "Sell the steel you stripped from the Oizenians. Perhaps you could buy another mount?"

Vilon looked at him as if he had suggested marrying the moon. He shook his head slowly. "It wouldn’t be enough. Even if I sold every scrap of iron I own and stood in nothing but my breeches, it wouldn’t be enough for a destrier. I could buy a workhorse, but there is a reason for that word before ’horse.’ It wouldn’t survive in a charge."

He looked down at his calloused, mud-stained hands, then back at the mound of earth. "If I am careful, very careful, the silver might cover my living expenses for a year, maybe two. But then what? There is no knight without a horse. It shames me to say that is all I can think of right now."

Basil could hear the shame oozing from the man’s voice; it was written in the way he wouldn’t meet their eyes, keeping his gaze firmly on the dirt.

"Maybe I’ll become a mercenary," Vilon continued, his voice dropping to a low, hollow tone. "I’m sure there’s a band somewhere willing to take a man of my size. It’s the only thing I know, the weight of a sword. I can’t plow a field, for I’ve never held a grain-sack. I can’t read or write. I can’t become a priest for the same reasons. I suppose I’ll just linger around Epietoli, or wherever the Bull’s horns lead him. I think war will follow his trail soon enough. I’ll wait there until luck strikes me well or a sword fells me. It’s all the same... there is no knight without a horse."

Then, a strange, small sound escaped him, a dry, rasping chuckle. Vilon looked up at the grey sky, a distant memory flickering in his eyes.

"You know," he muttered, shaking his head. "During the battle... I was terrified. I was disgusted by the sight of it all, the way the mud turned to red soup and the sound men make when the iron bites deep. I hated every second of it.Never killed a man before even."

He looked at Basil, a faint, genuine spark of pride lighting up his weary face. "But in that moment, in the thick of the screaming and the smoke, I felt like a knight for the first time in my life. I remember parrying a blow from a man in plate, his mace whistled past my ear, so close I could feel the wind of it. I drove my blade home, and as he fell, I caught my reflection in a pool of standing brownish water."

Vilon chuckled again, more softly this time. "I saw the white chicken on my shield, I felt the sword steady beneath my grasp, and despite the horror, I whispered to myself: ’I am a knight. I am truly a knight.’ I must have said it a dozen times while the world was ending around me. Just to make sure it was true."

He looked back at the grave, his smile fading into a grim line. "And now I’m just a man with a shovel to give back and no way to ride.I was of the mind of asking Owen if he’d like to be a squire of mine. He liked being around chestnut well enough and he asked if he could follow me in my adventure half a dozen of time. The last one I told him I would think about it. And I really did after the battle I thought I would accompany him home and ask his mothers for her permission. Perhaps that was the Gods way to tell me that should not be."

Vilon raised his eyes, the fire of his memory fading back into the dull exhaustion of the present. "I apologize... I’ve held you back for far too long. I’ll stay here a while longer. I can find my own way back."

"If that is what you wish," Ser Lorry muttered, his expression a strange cocktail of pity and detachment. He sighed, adjusting his cloak. "The war isn’t over, Ser. We’ll be on the march soon. Lord Merelao will follow the Falcon I expect. Perhaps there’s more loot to be had before the winter start. Not all is lost."

"I thank you for the kind words," Vilon replied, though his voice suggested he didn’t believe a word of it.

Both knights signaled for Basil to follow. The Prince’s son reached for the pommel, sliding his boot into the stirrup to swing himself up, but as he prepared for the jump, his eyes lingered on the mud-caked knight standing by the fresh mound of earth.

Basil sighed. Perhaps spending so much time around the "Horned Lord" had been contagious. The logic of the heart was beginning to override the logic of the crown.

Instead of jumping into the saddle, Basil pulled his foot back down. He grabbed the bridle and turned toward the knight. He knew that if his father ever learned of this, his backside would be redder than a Yarzat sunset, but he couldn’t stop himself.

"There is a horse here, Ser," Basil said.

The silence that followed was so sudden you could have heard a gnat sneeze in the next county. Vilon looked at the boy with a look of pure, unadulterated confusion. Behind Basil, he could practically feel the heat of Dandweel’s and Lorry’s stares boring into the back of his skull.

"My... my Lord? You mean..." Understanding finally began to crawl across Vilon’s face, but instead of reaching for the gift, he took a stumbling step backward as if to get away from the notion.

"Your Grace!" Lorry’s voice cracked like a whip, nearly a shout. "That is your father’s gift! A beast from the Royal Stables themselves!"

"I am well aware, Ser," Basil said, his voice clipped. "My father impressed that notion upon me very ardently, and with a rather fiery note of pride."

He knew the history of the animal better than anyone. Ten years ago, after the night attack at Aracina, Alpheo had captured the Oizenian camp and every fine beast within it. A year later, he’d established the breeding program that produced the finest chargers in the South. This horse was a masterpiece of that lineage, five years of careful rearing and months of training. It was five knight’s ransom on four legs.

"Your Grace," Dandweel called out, his deep voice carrying a rare edge of warning. "If your father comes to know of this, his wrath will be... significant."

"Will you rat me out then, Ser? Will either of you?" Basil turned his head just enough to catch them in his emerald gaze.’’I had thought the rats had all gone out after Ser Rodry travelled south. Are there two more standing here now perhaps?’’

"The stable boys—" Lorry started.

"The stable boys will do exactly what they are told,for they are fucking stable-boys. " Basil snapped. He thought for a second, the lie spinning effortlessly in his mind. "A viper struck from the grass and spooked the horse. Taciturn Dandweel or Fucking-Blabbermouth Lorry saved me before I could be thrown, but the beast bolted into the brush, likely bitten and lost. You can squabble between yourselves over who gets the honor of the rescue."

The two knights fell silent, stunned by the sheer audacity of the boy’s deceit. Basil didn’t wait for their approval; he thrust the leather reins into Vilon’s shaking hand.

"I—I am not worthy," Vilon stammered, staring at the horse as if it were made of glass. "Ser Lorry said this beast came from the Prince of Yarzat’s own stalls... your father must have paid a lot....how can I presume to ride it?"

Basil realized then that the knight still hadn’t connected the dots. The "sharpened tool" his father looked for in men was clearly not Vilon’s primary attribute, but he was a true knight, and that was enough.

"Take the horse, Ser Vilon. Consider it a loan from the Weaver," Basil said, pressing the bridle into the man’s grip. "And promise me you’ll make good use of it. I’d hate to think I walked back to camp for a man who’s just going to let the beast get fat on clover or that made himself fatter from banditry."

"I promise," Vilon whispered, his eyes shining. "I will find you, my Lord. I will tell everyone of your kindness. I will make sure they know the name of the noble’s son who—"

Thud. Basil delivered a light kick to Vilon’s shin. "What would be the sense of our made-up story if you go shouting the truth to the crows? Keep your mouth shut and your saddle straight."

Basil turned toward Ser Lorry, ignoring the judgemental silence. "We’ll be sharing your saddle, Ser. Try not to complain; it’ll be a good exercise for your horse’s lower back."

He looked over his shoulder at Vilon, who was standing paralyzed, clutching the leather reins of the finest animal he had ever seen.

"Well? Move along," Basil prompted, his tone light but firm. "My boots are already gaining weight by the second, and I believe Ser Lorry here needs time to rehearse his retelling of the ’Viper Attack’ for the master of horse when he’ll ask. My name is Basil, by the way. Keep the story to yourself or I’ll set hounds on you.Hungry hounds"

"Why, my Lord?" Vilon asked, his voice thick with a mix of wonder and utter confusion. "Why do this for a stranger "

Basil paused, the wet grass whispering against his shins. "Do you believe in fate, Ser Vilon?"

Vilon blinked.He recalled that old woman.

"I... I do not."

"Well then," Basil said, reaching out as if to snatch the reins back. "Bugger you and give me back my horse."

Vilon’s shoulders jerked and with a sad expression walked a step forward.

"No you dumb idiot! I’m jesting. ’’He would have laughed were it not for the knight’s face ’’All right...Listen, there are times when I am unsure of a path, and then something... specific happens. Usually, it’s a thing most would skip over, but I tend to give those moments meaning.

I was in a dark mood today because....something happened.Something I am not telling you. Seeing you out here, wrestling with a dead horse because you loved it too much to sell it to a butcher... it uplifted me.

If that isn’t a sign from the All-Knower or the Father, I don’t know what is.Maybe it was the Weaver, or the Warrior for all I know."

Basil jumped over ser Lorry’s horse. "Maybe what was a sign for me will be a revelation for you. Or maybe I am just a dumbass child with too much money at hand. Who can say? Just make use of that animal and remain noble as you are now to me.

Perhaps if I hear stories of a ’Ser Vilon the Just’ drifting through the courts in a few years, I shall send word for you and offer you a place in my own retinue. Until then, I charge you to go forth with your life and be a good knight."

He glanced back at the fresh mound of earth beneath the lone tree. "Give your final goodbyes to Chestnut. Reassure him that his master won’t be going hungry or walking into battle like a common footman."

Basil turned to scramble up behind Ser Lorry, who looked like he was praying for the earth to swallow them all. Once settled, Basil looked back one last time, a bit of his father’s steel flickering in his smile as he recalled his words.

"I promise you, Ser Vilon, no matter how dark the night, morning shall wait on the other side. Now ride!’’

And with that they he rode indeed, leaving behind him a life that he had forever changed with but a kindness. A life that he did not know yet, but he would meet once again.