Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9B35MMMNEN4Z3F57822F6

<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> I swung down from Thunder, my legs half-numb from the ride, and the scents of hay, leather, and lantern smoke rose to meet me. A figure stepped from the stables’ shadow, chain shirt whispering, a tabard bearing a faded crest—a dragon coiled about a sword. “You must be Frederick,” he said, offering me his forearm. “Sir Roland. Local knight of this keep, and these stables’ greatest admirer.” His grip was firm, warm, and honest. He looked past me to Thunder with an approving nod. “Good bones. A horse that listens. You’ll go far if you do the same.” He swept a hand toward the row of stalls where horses snorted and stamped, their breath fogging in the deepening dusk. “We begin where all true knightly work begins—not in the hall, but here, where lives are cared for before honors are claimed.” I led Thunder at his pace, not mine, and Sir Roland watched with a small, unreadable smile. “Dawn comes early at the castle,” he said. “Training earlier. I’ll have you muck and curry before you learn the sword’s first song. It teaches patience—keeps pride honest.” He paused at an empty stall, lantern throwing gold over old wood. “Welcome to your new life, Frederick,” Sir Roland said, voice kind and steady. “You’ve arrived. Now we’ll teach you to stay.” And somewhere beyond the yard, hooves drummed the earth like distant wings. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> The stables crouched low against the castle wall, warm breath and quiet nickers spilling into the dusk. Frederick’s reins were still in his hand when a knight stepped out from between the lanterns: a man with weather-creased skin, iron-gray hair at his temples, and a gorget inlaid with green enamel—an old dragon worked delicate as ivy. “Frederick,” he said, the name a certainty rather than a question. “Sir Roland. You’ve made good time.” He greeted the squire near the threshold, where straw met trampled earth, and his eyes took Frederick’s measure not like a weighing, but like a craftsman assessing a blade yet unsharpened. “Stables first,” Sir Roland murmured. “If you can mind a horse’s temper, the field’s won half over.” As they moved beneath the beams, Frederick noticed char streaks high in the rafters, old scars near the thatch. Sir Roland followed his gaze. “Long before you were born,” he said softly, “fire visited these timbers. The land remembers what it survives.” He took Thunder’s bridle and laid a calming hand along the stallion’s face, his voice easing into the grain of the night. “We listen before we command. Hear the rhythm? Hoof, breath, heart, hush.” The horses settled, and even the yard hounds lowered their heads. “Tomorrow,” Sir Roland went on, almost smiling, “we’ll see how you carry a shield. Tonight, learn where you’ll lay it down. There’s a wisdom here most halls forget.” Outside, the castle banners troubled the wind, and the green on his gorget caught the lantern-light like a promise. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> Lanterns swung on their hooks and clinked softly as I brought Thunder to the hitching rail. A mare in the nearest stall tossed her head, eyes rolling white at the clang of a dropped bucket. Before I could move, a knight with a weathered jaw and a calm like deep water stepped in beside me. “Sir Roland,” he said, greeting me near the stable doors with a brief clasp. “Frederick, is it? Good. Let’s see what your hands know.” He palmed me a halter and pointed to the skittish mare. “Starling likes to make a fuss. Approach from the shoulder. Breathe slow, speak slower.” My mouth went dry, but I did as told, letting my breath match the mare’s. I set my palm to the warmth of her neck and felt the quiver there, my heartbeat learning her rhythm. “Easy, girl,” I murmured, voice low as the lantern’s hum. Sir Roland said nothing, only watched my posture—the loosened shoulders, the softening jaw. Starling’s ears tipped toward me; the whites of her eyes vanished. The halter slid on, smooth as a moonrise. Thunder blew a proud breath, as if to say he’d taught me himself. “Not bad,” Sir Roland allowed, and the praise struck truer than a fanfare. “Horses and battle both despise bravado. Remember that.” He gestured toward the empty stall across from Starling. “Get Thunder settled. Dawn is cruel and honest, and so am I. We start there.” He turned, the blue dusk catching on the dragon stitched at his shoulder, and in his wake the stable seemed to stand a little straighter. </nc-section>