The Sir Panther Chronicles: Desrtoying the Garden of Eden

[Chapter 1] Silent Moments and Black Knights' Arrows

Sir Panther sat in the shadow of a large oak chewing silently on a piece of grass. His horse, shadow lingering with his smoke presence and deep brown eyes; as much as Sir Panther loved torturing the King, he did not want to fight any longer. After all, it was him fighting alone. The king had ended the war through tyranny. Sir Panther never wanted to fight again.

He decided that the next reliable farmer that he crossed paths with, he would ask the way to Bluestone Abbey. There he would enjoy old friends, good food, being called his real name, Luke, and harsh manual labor that he loved to do. There was also the promise of Rebekah who was by far the biggest reason for Sir Panther ever coming home.

Sir Panther started chewing on a small hunk of bread, this was one of the silent moments that he seldom indulged in, for more reasons than one. Silent moments such as this brought up his never forgotten past: the History of the Lost Brothers.

Sir Panther saw a rabbit spring forth and, with a flick of his wrist, he plucked its raged body out of the air as a falcon would a pigeon. Most would say that Sir Panther had too much flexibility and that he paid too much attention to little things. He was too quick and sometimes that was a bad thing. No sooner had he touched the animal than had he realized that its body was mangled by a Black Knights’ arrow.

You could tell for it was pitch black and a white dove’s feather adorned the end. Sir Panther dropped the dead rabbit and lead Shadow into the darkness. Black Knights’ arrows were poisoned and the rabbit lasted only minutes. The Black Knights usually killed small animals for spot and deer for meat. The only killed men for money. The Black Knights were vile excuses for men. They had destroyed entire villages with their greed, and the King hadn’t lifted a finger about them.

The Black Knight responsible for the rabbit’s death came into view. He was followed by one fellow Knight and two black horses. They were fat and drunk. Not much else could be said for the common Black Knight: they were fond of women, drinks, and food, but Black Knights were deadly because, as is common knowledge, even a stupid, drunk man can kill another with an arrow.

The two Knights took a heavy log, chopped it, and built a great fire. The grand fire roared as the Black Knights go so drunk that they could hardly stands. Minutes afterward, they were sleeping off their mead.

Sir Panther climbed soundlessly onto Shadow’s back and while Shadow waited for Sir Panther’s signal; a Black Knight strung his arrow and aimed. Sir Panther grew uneasy and he turned around, just to make sure that the Knights were still asleep. He heard a whistling. An arrow, pitch black with a white dove’s feather plunged itself deep in his right shoulder.

Sir Panther knew he was lucky. If he had not moved, the arrow could have hit his chest, or worse, his heart. Fire and ice surged through his body. The poison made itself known rather than staying hidden. Sir Panther’s breathing was heavy and his hands were slick with sweat.

Dark pools of red, the exact color of red roses, bloomed over his shoulder and black shirt; the blood slowly drip-dropped unto Shadow, turning his grey body red. Sir Panther passed out thinking of red roses with veins of black and of his beloved Rebekah, and his secret past of the History of the Lost Brothers.