The Scout

The scout was running through the dark forest, but in the manner so he would not be heard. It is difficult to keep this pace when you are running for your life, however. The forest that had been his friend in childhood was now a number of obstacles to pass. He hid in a small embankment covered by a fallen tree.

“Perhaps they didn’t see me” he thought. “Maybe they just went to ride on patrol”

He tried to reassure himself. But it was to no avail. The scout had seen the crusaders in their camps, massed together and fighting as God’s own war machine. He saw the small tents that had been raised across the field, he saw the swords of the so called “Holy Father” clean their gear and stop for the evening, he saw an approximation of their numbers, but above all, he saw the men had but one goal, to destroy his tribe in the name of an almighty god.

The Scout would see more sights however, several knights were riding along the edge of the camp. They were wearing their surcoats, adorned with black cross upon their torsos. One of their horses reared up. One of them pointed directly in the location of the young scout.

A quick flight ensued. Lest he feel the wrath of a holy warrior.

He took a moment to rest and admire the forest of his youth. These mighty trees had been here since the old gods created the world. Covering the earth in quiet darkness. There were but the sounds of rustling leaves, a few unruly birds, and the foreign sounds of a stallion.

He chuckled to himself “If the trees are heathens, then these Germans will have to destroy them too.” His moment of remembrance was short lived however as he heard a sound like thunder. He quickly looked above his hiding place to find four horsemen riding furiously with the fervor of God behind them. Their horses were draped in white like their armor and it seemed if they were driven by the power of the divine as well. “Are these warriors or demons!?” he thought as he stayed as still and as quiet as possible. The zealots stopped for a moment in the middle of the worn path, not far from his place of refuge. One of them started barking commands in their tongue and the other three Knights rode off in separate directions.

This one stayed however and dismounted from his steed. The crusader walked slowly around, looking for a scent like a hound. The scout poked his head out just enough to get a glimpse of the knight. Like the others he saw before, he saw the emblem of his god's great sacrifice adorned upon his foe's bosom, his face was covered by an iron helm, hiding any expression this holy warrior may have, but most jarring of all were the wings jarring out of the sides of the helm, which sought to frighten the pagan hordes this man wished to conquer. For a man of the cloth, this knight seemed as if he was not a human, but rather some sort of divine demon forged in fire and ready to set the world aflame in the name of his God.

The knight, sensed nothing, perhaps a minor blessing for the young scout this day. The knight wandered a bit more and then remounted his horse and rode off into the darkening forest.

The Scout sighed to himself in relief. Whatever gods there are, they decided to keep him safe this day.