<nc-section data-title="The Greeting - Version 1" data-color="red"> Thunder whinnied and tossed his head as I dismounted, my boots hitting the cobblestones with a heavy thud. Before me loomed Sir Roland, his crimson cape snapping like a flame in the dying light. He didn't extend a hand, but a steely gaze that seemed to measure the worth of a squire rather than just a groom. The evening air felt heavy around him, charged with a heat that had nothing to do with the setting sun. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Greeting - Version 2" data-color="green"> The smell of damp hay and fresh earth greeted me as Thunder nosed at the water trough, drinking his fill. As I approached the main stable building, a figure stepped out from the timber beams. Sir Roland, his leather breastplate reflecting the last of the golden sun. He looked like a man of the fields, his face weathered like the bark of the ancient oaks outside the walls, and he offered a tired but genuine grin as he nodded to my horse. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Greeting - Version 3" data-color="blue"> A biting chill crept into the air as the sky deepened into a bruised purple-blue. Thunder's breath came out in white puffs as I tied him up. Standing in the flickering light of the lanterns nearby was Sir Roland. He wore polished azure plate, looking every bit the man of stone and law, his expression unreadable and distant, like a fortress gate closing against the night. He merely inclined his head, acknowledging my presence without a word. </nc-section>