<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Greeting" data-color="red"> I reined in Thunder, the stallion's hooves clattering loudly against the cobblestones as we skidded to a halt before the stable entrance. A large man stepped out from the shadows of the overhang, his hand resting on the pommel of a broadsword. It was Sir Roland. His face was weather-beaten and stern, his armor lacking the polish of the ceremonial guards I had passed earlier. "You ride with haste, boy," he grunted, his voice like grinding stones. "But in these walls, haste leads to mistakes. Get down from that beast and greet your superior properly." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Warm Welcome" data-color="green"> As I guided Thunder toward the open stable doors, the smell of hay and leather enveloped us. A man in a stained tunic was already there, turning fresh hay into a stall with a pitchfork. He looked up, wiping sweat from his brow, and his face broke into a wide grin. It was Sir Roland, looking less like a legendary warrior and more like a kindly farmer. "Easy there," he said softly, approaching slowly so as not to spook the horse. "You must be Frederick. I heard the thunder of your approach from the tower. Come, let's get your friend here some water and get you settled in." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Mysterious Encounter" data-color="blue"> The shadows were stretching long across the courtyard as I slowed Thunder to a walk. Near the stables, the light seemed to falter, and I saw a figure leaning against the stone wall, motionless. Sir Roland watched me approach with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the coming night. He said nothing as I dismounted, merely tilting his head toward the castle gates where the last sliver of sun was disappearing. "You made it just in time," he whispered, his voice carrying an eerie calm. "The dark is not a time for training, Frederick. It is a time for listening." </nc-section>