Today's word is: Grateful!

               I knelt before one of the greatest knights in the land.

               “You’re no wizard, are you?” He said to me, his chain-linked vest glistening in the morning sun. I’d heard about what they did for me. This man, this paragon of justice threw a man, and not just any man, but the Archbishop from the greatest building in the city. I felt honoured; I’d never had so much as an early second egg from my own chickens before, but as I shook my head my stomach dropped out.

               Sir Archibald looked at me. Right in the soul. A shiver ran down my arms, and but fled all too quickly. What would he have said if he knew? “How far is home for you?” His voice was like melted iron, soft but somehow harsh.

               I pointed toward the sun, hovering above the horizon, down the dirty cobbles toward my chickens and cows and bone-crushing boredom. Who wouldn’t get curious if they had all the time I do? The large man extended his hand, raising me up onto the roan-horse. His bruised face was smiling. He seemed friendly enough.

               “Grateful’s not even close.” I said, and I meant it.

               It only took a short while before we were outside the grimy paddock and crumbling hay-and-mud nest in which I lived. People still believed I was just a lonely farmer, so I had to keep up the mask. “This is your home?” he said. I could hear a note of aversion as he asked. I nodded and eased myself down from the overly-tall horse. My knees creaked as I landed.

               “Thanks for… well... my life.” I never knew what to say around these knights. They perform such a duty for their folk. I wished I could do something for them all. And maybe one day I will.

               With a nod, he inclined his head in his saddle and set off to his tasks. I was alone again, and I could finally get back to work. Entering my hut, I saw the place was wrecked in my absence. I had nothing worth stealing at the time, but the hay-bales I slept in were scattered, and my father’s worn table was cracked in two. But it didn’t matter.

               I crossed through and stamped a foot around, thumping my calloused foot into the mud until I found the handle. It was brass, and cold to the touch. Pulling it out, I wrenched the trap-door wide and disappeared into the underworld.

               I wish I could do something for those knights. And maybe one day I will.