A warm, lazy afternoon sun filtered through the trees as a young boy crouched on the muddy bank of a quiet pond. He couldn't have been more than seven years old. With his knees tucked under his chest, he held a simple fishing rod in his skinny hands. His brown hair flopped over his ears, making them nearly invisible, and big curious blue eyes stared at the still water. He was only about four feet tall with a slim build, and his clothes were a bit ragged from playing outside. He wore a faded brown T-shirt and black shorts that came down past his knees. The edges of his pants were frayed from crawling over rocks and roots in this very jungle.
Brad's stomach let out a low, hungry rumble. He sighed and rested his chin on his arm as he stared at the bobber floating on the pond's surface. Why does it always have to be vegetables for dinner? he thought sadly. His mouth watered just thinking about a crispy, grilled fish for a change. The sun on his skin warmed him, but there was a growl in his belly that food might fix. He carefully adjusted his weight, shifting his legs a little so he didn't spoil the balance of his rod. He wasn't the fastest or strongest kid around, but he knew fish liked patience.
As he stared at the bobber, Brad daydreamed about catching a big fish—maybe a shiny silver one or a golden carp that would sizzle on the campfire. Oh, crispy fish and rice, he imagined, with some butter... He shook his head to clear his mind back to the task at hand. Fishing was simple and peaceful, and better than thinking about boring broccoli or peas.
Suddenly, the stillness of the jungle was broken by a distant rumbling. The ground beneath Brad began to vibrate with soft tremors. At first, he blinked, thinking a big animal was stamping around. But then came a low, muffled thud—almost like the beat of a giant drum. Confused, he lifted his head and peered past the line of trees.
From beyond a bend in the path, dust started rising up. Within moments, he saw them: a small troop of armored horsemen, thunderous on their powerful steeds. At first Brad thought it must be some strange dream or a story come to life. His heart skipped a beat. The knights were clad in shining silver armor that glinted brightly under the afternoon sun. Their helmets and breastplates were polished smooth, reflecting the sky and jungle around them. The horses were as large as small elephants, each muscle in their legs rippling as they galloped. Brad's mouth fell open in amazement.
He gripped his fishing rod tighter with both hands. The leather of the rod handle was smooth and comforting beneath his fingers. His small fingers tightened instinctively. In all the stories Brad had ever heard, he had only dreamed of knights and adventures. Here they were, real and alive. He could see their swords at their sides and the crests of strange symbols on their chests.
As the knights neared, their thunderous approach slowed. The troop broke formation into a staggered line, and the horses began to plod rather than gallop. The lead knight noticed the boy by the pond and reined in his horse, causing a heavy hooves-on-dirt scrape. Brad's eyes shot wide. The knight wore a tall silver helmet with a narrow visor, but when he took it off, a broad face was revealed.
This knight was tall—six feet at least—and powerfully built. Golden blond hair fell in waves to his shoulders, shining almost like spun sunlight against his armor. His face was tanned from the outdoors, but friendly. Deep blue eyes regarded Brad with a curious gaze. He gave Brad a gentle smile that, strangely, made the boy feel a bit safer despite the chaos of steel and horseflesh around him. A deep voice rumbled as he spoke, warm but firm, "Hello, little one. Do you know the way to Porter Village?"
Brad's heart thumped loudly in his ears. He felt torn between excitement and fear. These were real knights, probably the kind who fought dragons in tales. His mouth went dry for a moment. He swallowed, glanced back at the unruffled surface of the pond, and then back at the towering knights. Gathering courage, he forced out a strong nod and managed, "Yes, I know! That's my village!"
For a brief moment, the lead knight's smile faltered. The amusement in his eyes dimmed slightly, but he quickly covered it with a reassuring grin. "Very well," the knight said. "We won't trouble you for long. Come, little one, show us the way."
Brad's mind screamed with alarms—What if I've made a mistake? he thought. But before he could second-guess himself, the knight leaned down and stretched a big armored hand toward him. Brad's legs moved almost on their own. Almost on reflex, he stood up carefully, letting his toes sink into the soft mud at the pond's edge.
The knight's gauntleted hand was cool and surprisingly gentle as it closed around Brad's slim wrist. With a quick lift, Brad found himself hoisted up onto the saddle of the knight's horse, right in front of the knight who had removed his helmet. The horse's flank pressed hot and sweaty against Brad's legs. He wrapped his hands tightly around a polished edge of the saddle. Brad's short brown shorts crept up a bit as the knight's armor panel above his leg was ice-cold against Brad's back. It felt strange and metallic, and Brad shivered even though he wasn't cold.
The knight's voice broke through Brad's jumble of thoughts as he settled: "Lead the way," he said quietly, still with that curious mix of kindness and authority. Brad gave a nervous grin and pointed down the jungle path. The way to Porter Village was just a short distance to the east, past some twisted old trees.
One by one, the other knights signaled with a low trill of their bugles or a curl of their gloved hands. They fell into a straight formation behind the lead knight. With a sudden soft command, the horses began to move forward again.
Brad's eyes widened in equal parts fear and thrill. It was the first time he had ever ridden a horse. The saddle beneath him rose and fell with each heavy step of the horse. At first, the swaying motion made Brad's stomach lurch—he was afraid he might fall off. He gripped tighter. But soon, he found a rhythm. The horse's hide was warm and the gentle bouncing felt almost like a lullaby. Brad allowed himself to relax bit by bit, marveling at how high up he was. He caught glimpses of the jungle around him: bright green ferns brushing against the path, the smell of damp earth and blooming flowers, and the sound of leaves whispering in the breeze.
The lead knight rode behind him, peering over Brad's shoulder. After a few moments of quiet, he leaned forward and asked kindly, "What's your name, boy?"
Brad turned his head slightly and blinked at the voice. It was kind, not fearsome, after all. "Brad," he said proudly, almost forgetting to be scared. The knight chuckled softly at that name.
"I'm Sir Rowan," the knight said with a friendly nod. He sounded genuinely pleased to hear Brad's name. "Well then, Brad, how far is your village from here?"
Brad puffed out his chest a bit. He remembered the way well. "Just a couple of minutes more, I think," he answered. "If we go fast, we could be there in two or three minutes."
Sir Rowan gave a laugh that rumbled through his broad chest. "So you're saying we should speed up?" he teased, raising an eyebrow playfully.
Brad's grin faltered. He shook his head quickly, becoming serious again. "No, no! No, thank you," he said, voice a little shrill. "This is my first time on a horse. I'm a bit scared. I don't want it to be too fast."
The knight laughed softly, a low sound like distant thunder but friendly. "Alright, fair enough," Sir Rowan said, raising a hand to signal the knights to keep the current pace. "We'll keep it slow. But are you sure this is the right way to Porter Village?"
Brad nodded vigorously. He felt a swell of pride that he knew where he was going. "Yes, absolutely! I know this place like the back of my hand. I come here all the time to fish—well, I did, until you all showed up," he added with a half-smile. Then his face fell a bit. "Oh, no! I left my fishing rod back at the pond, didn't I?"
Sir Rowan heard the panic in his voice and gave a gentle smile he hoped would calm the boy. He reached up and patted the boy lightly on the back through the metal of his armor. "Don't worry, Brad," he said quietly. "After we handle our business in Porter Village, we'll bring you right back here. You can have your fishing pole, and maybe we'll catch that nice fish together. How does that sound?"
Brad's fear melted away at that. He believed Sir Rowan for some reason. Maybe it was the way he spoke, so patiently and friendly, or how he had treated Brad kindly. Brad nodded again, this time with a full smile. "Yeah… I'd like that."
Brad became curious. "May I ask… what work do you have in our village?" he ventured shyly, thinking about what such armored men would want with a small place like Porter Village.
Sir Rowan didn't answer right away. Suddenly, the thick greenery on both sides of the path began to thin. The trees parted and Brad's heart jumped as he saw a clearing ahead.
It was his village.
Brad pointed excitedly. "There it is!" he exclaimed. The sight of Porter Village cheered him. It was tiny, made up of only a few wooden cottages with straw-thatched roofs. In the center was a small well with a bucket resting on its rim. Children's laughter echoed faintly in the distance as they ran between homes, and the smell of fresh bread from someone's oven drifted through the air.
Sir Rowan smiled as he surveyed the settlement. "Your village is beautiful," he said softly. "Thank you for bringing us here, Brad."
Brad puffed up with pride. "Yes, Porter Village is very nice," he agreed. A warm glow spread through him at Sir Rowan's kind words. They rode on to the main entrance.
Inside the village, everything was as still as a picture frame that had just been paused. Men and women working in the fields or tending gardens froze at their tasks and stared in astonishment. Even the chickens on the dirt road stopped clucking and stared at the strange sight of horses and knights.
Brad felt like a tiny bug under a magnifying glass. At this moment, he felt both proud and scared as every villager's eyes fell on the newcomers. Many whispered to each other. "Where did they come from?" "Knights! In our own village?" They seemed anxious and curious. Horses were rare here—only a nobleman or a wealthy lord would own one, and none of these villagers were either. And knights? It was unheard of.
Sir Rowan brought his horse to a stop just inside the wooden gate of the village. He patted his horse's neck gently with one hand and lifted Brad off the saddle with the other. The ground felt firm under Brad's feet again after the swaying of the ride.
Quiet descended over the village as Sir Rowan cleared his throat. The other knights formed up around him. Their horses stomped softly, but other than that, everything was silent. A few brave children peered out from behind their mothers' skirts, and some old men stood at the doorways, shocked.
Sir Rowan raised a hand above his head, palm out, and the other knights responded by instantly straightening their rows, each man and horse aligning into a disciplined formation. It was as if a conductor was starting a symphony. The villagers took a step back; they could sense something serious was about to happen.