Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD5R2NEZX6T2YA7Z3E9YPT3

<nc-section data-title="The Knight at the Stables - Version 1" data-color="red"> The stables smelled of hay and leather and horse-sweat, a smell that already felt like home as Frederick dismounted. Thunder snorted, stamping his great hooves in the dust of the yard. "Easy there, lad. That's a fine beast for a squire who looks barely old enough to hold a sword." Frederick spun around. A broad-shouldered man in a dented breastplate stood with his arms crossed, his beard more grey than brown, his eyes crinkled in amusement. "Sir Roland?" Frederick stammered, hastily bowing his head. "Sir Roland of Ashford?" "The same," the knight laughed, stepping forward and clasping Frederick's forearm in a grip like iron. "I've been expecting you. The castellan said we'd have a new pup for training. Frederick, was it?" "Yes, sir." "Well, Frederick. Let's get Thunder watered and rubbed down. A squire who doesn't care for his horse first doesn't deserve to ride him. That's your first lesson." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Knight at the Stables - Version 2" data-color="green"> Frederick had just led Thunder into the cool shadow of the stables when a voice boomed from behind a stack of saddles. "You're late." A knight emerged, tall and lean, his polished plate missing its gauntlets, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. Sir Roland did not look as Frederick had imagined - there were no plumes, no shining honors, just a plain surcoat with the hawk of the castle faded from too many washings. "Sir Roland! I - forgive me, sir, the road from Millford was washed out and -" "And you are here now," Roland cut him off, but not unkindly. He looked Frederick up and down, from his mud-spattered boots to his wind-tangled hair. He looked at Thunder last, his gaze softening. "Good. Strong legs on this one. Strong heart, too, I'd wager. Like his rider, hmm?" Frederick felt his cheeks flush. "I hope to be worthy, sir." Roland smiled then, a quick, bright thing. "Worthy has nothing to do with it. Willing does. Come, help me with that girth. Your training starts not in the yard, but right here." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Knight at the Stables - Version 3" data-color="blue"> The castle's stables were vast, a long row of stalls built into the outer wall, and for a moment Frederick thought he had entered alone. Then a horse in the farthest stall kicked its door, and a man leaning against the post beside it sighed. "You must be the new squire." Sir Roland pushed himself upright. He was younger than the stories Frederick had heard by the hearth as a boy - not yet forty, with dark hair cut short and a thin scar that traced his left jawline. He held a brush in one hand and was covered in straw. "Frederick, sir," Frederick said, pulling Thunder to a halt and executing the formal bow he'd practiced all the way from his village. "Frederick Stone, arrived for training, sir." Roland looked at the bow, looked at the boy nearly toppling over from exhaustion, and chuckled. "No need for court manners near the stables, Frederick Stone. Horses don't care for them, so I don't either." He tossed Frederick the brush. "I'm Roland. I keep the knights in order and the squires out of trouble, mostly. You catch your breath, and then you can tell me about your journey while we tend to your stallion here." </nc-section>