Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAZ9YQW42YPT24T7WMZ5QG

Okay, here are three alternate prose sections detailing Sir Roland greeting Frederick near the stables, each with a different color association as requested. **Version 1 (red - focusing on Roland's gruffness and Frederick’s nervousness)** <nc-section data-title="A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> The air smelled of hay and horse sweat as I dismounted near the stables. A figure emerged from the shadows – Sir Roland, they must have been. He was a towering man, clad in worn leather, his face etched with years of battle. He didn't offer a smile, simply a scrutinizing glare. "You're the new squire, then?" his voice was a gravelly rumble. I stammered a “Y-yes, sir!” and attempted a respectful bow, nearly tripping over my own feet. He snorted. “Less bowing, more usefulness. The stables need mucking. Consider it your first lesson. A knight’s squire must be as comfortable with manure as with a sword.” He gestured with a gauntleted hand towards a pile that was, admittedly, rather substantial. My stomach twisted. This wasn’t quite the heroic welcome I’d imagined. </nc-section> **Version 2 (green - focusing on Roland's practicality and Frederick’s eagerness)** <nc-section data-title="Practical Matters" data-color="green"> Thunder whinnied softly as I patted his flank, guiding him towards the bustling stables. A man with the bearing of a seasoned warrior approached – Sir Roland, I presumed. He wasn’t adorned with flashy plate armor, but wore practical, well-maintained leather. “You must be Frederick," he said, his tone warm but direct. "Good to have another pair of hands. First things first, your horse needs settling. Old Man Tiber, our stablemaster, will see to him. Then, we’ll assess your skills. Don’t worry about impressing me with tales of valor yet. I’m more interested in knowing if you can sharpen a blade and tend to a warhorse. A knight is only as good as the support around him.” He clapped me on the shoulder, a surprisingly gentle gesture. "Let's get you started, shall we?" </nc-section> **Version 3 (blue - focusing on Roland's observant nature and Frederick’s impression of him)** <nc-section data-title="A Measured Look" data-color="blue"> Approaching the stables, the scent of wood shavings and horses filled my lungs. A man stood observing me, leaning against a stall post – Sir Roland. He hadn’t spoken, but simply *watched* as I dismounted, his eyes, the color of a winter sky, taking in everything from the set of my shoulders to the way I handled Thunder’s reins. It wasn’t an unfriendly gaze, but a calculating one. "So," he said finally, his voice calm and even, “you are the squire sent from the capital.” He paused, studying my face. “You look…unblemished. Untested. A blank slate, perhaps. That offers both opportunity and responsibility. Tell me, Frederick, what do *you* believe a squire’s duty truly is?” His question hung in the air, a quiet challenge. </nc-section> I tried to give each version a distinct feel and voice while staying true to the prompt. Let me know which direction you’d like to take the story, and I can continue building from there!