A Knight, a Princess, and a Dragon

Of course, Mikhail always packed just enough armor polish, but what made him such a noble knight was his kindness, his selflessness, his hopefulness, his willingness to be a good man. People of many villages were used to seeing the thoughtful warrior striding about quietly doing good. And in the vast northern woods of this faraway land, hunting dragons was a very good thing. 

Our story begins, in fact, when a particularly evil dragon paid Mikhail's home village a nasty visit one moonless winter's night during his boyhood, when he was still too young to fight.

“You see the bright star there, right above the treetops?” The village elder pointed up into the sky. Mikhail nodded silently. He often came with his father's old friend to this quiet forest glade. Together they would read the magnificent stories written into the night sky.

“That is the Polar Star,” the village elder continued. “All other lights in the heavens move to and fro, but the Polar Star remains fixed and constant. It reminds us to hope, to be faithful and true in all that we do.”

“Faithful and true like my brother, the knight!” Mikhail added enthusiastically.

“Vitaliy is most certainly a noble knight,” the village elder agreed. “But remember, Mikhail Andreyevich, there are many ways to be faithful and true, to be a good man, besides knighthood.”

“Dragon!” hissed the village elder. “Quickly,” he cried, pulling on Mikhail's arm before the boy had recognized the danger. “Back to the village!”

But no one saw Mikhail pick his way by starlight through the burned crop fields, or walk past the old steam house. No one saw him break into a run along the twisting paths of the black forest towards the hidden cave where the ashrooms grew. No one saw him frantically rip one up by its roots and swallow it whole before blinding tears began to flow.  

In all the land, now only Mikhail knew the secret of the ashrooms. Years ago, he and his older brother had stumbled across the little plant quite by accident while were lost and hungry in the thick forest. The red-speckled, smoky mushrooms had been more than delicious; they had cleared away their feelings, dulled their fears and focused their minds. Now with Vitaliy gone, Mikhail relied more and more upon the ashrooms to numb his emotions whenever he felt discouragement or despair.

Another three winters passed from that special morning when Mikhail first polished his own armor and took up his father's sword. His fame spread beyond the northern woods and across the broad steppes as he tirelessly strode far and wide, selflessly serving others, providing gentle comfort, courageously protecting the weak...and doing all the good deeds that good men do.

The noble knight had just fought off three very ill-tempered, armor-tarnishing trolls who had been tearing apart the poor village house by house. As was his habit, Mikhail remained to help the townspeople rebuild their homes before the long, cold winter began. While lifting a particularly heavy log onto the wall of the new church, he heard a quiet voice behind him.

“You are Mikhail Andreyevich, the Knight,” it said.

“I am,” puffed Mikhail without turning around. He did not mean to be rude, but the heavy log required his full attention.

“You go about doing much good,” the voice whispered. “You have slain many fearsome dragons. It must be very tiring to hunt them on foot. Perhaps I can help.”

“Oh?” Mikhail turned around and found himself face to face with a beautifully large, white horse with snowy mane, powerful bearing, and a polished saddle as black as the night sky. Mikhail tried to peer around the magnificent animal to see who had spoken. “Hello?” he said.

“Yes,” replied the horse matter-of-factly as it pawed the rich earth with its hoof, “I am right here, of course.”

Mikhail stared at the beautiful animal with his mouth open, unsure of what to say next. After all, he had never talked with an animal before.

“You're...you're a horse,” he finally stammered, feeling rather silly for saying something that was rather obvious.

“I'm a stallion,” the white horse whispered with a shake of its mane. It seemed to think this was a perfectly natural and satisfactory answer. “My name is Spirit.”

“Oh,” said Mikhail, still more than a little confused.

“I know that you try to be faithful and true in all that you do,” Spirit continued. “That is why I am here. If you allow it, I will be your companion.”

Of course, everybody knows that a noble knight needs a noble horse. And even the ashrooms could not dull the loneliness that Mikhail felt on his long journeys through the forest. A hero's life can be a solitary one...and a man can accomplish much more good when he doesn't work alone. Two days later, with his armor freshly polished, warm bread from the grateful villagers in his pack and the autumn leaves falling around him, Mikhail swung up on to Spirit's beautiful black saddle.

“Truth be told,” the knight confessed, “I never was a good horseman.”

“Oh that matters little,” Spirit whispered in reply as he began to ford the River Ob with powerful strides, “for I am a stallion.”

The first snow fell as Spirit trotted through the gnarled white birch-wood gates of Mikhail's home village. The knight winced at the faded burn marks of old dragon fire on the gate pillars and the empty lot where his childhood home had once stood. He had long had no ashrooms left to dull his feelings.

“I am not meant for caves and dark places!” Spirit snorted and stamped his hooves disapprovingly on the frosty earth.

“I'll only be a minute,” Mikhail responded apologetically as he leaned his bright shield against the cave entrance and took off his chest plate. You see, even the best armor polish was little protection against the smoke of the underground ashroom chamber. Soon his little wooden box was filled once again with the red-speckled mushrooms, and Mikhail emerged from the dull glow of the dim cave only to find that Spirit had trotted back to the village without him. The snow fell heavier as Mikhail trudged back through the crop fields, though his heart felt lighter as painful memories faded away for a time.

“Oh?” Mikhail swallowed a spoonful of the steaming soup. “Dragons rarely come to our northern lands this time of year.” He knew a great deal about dragons, after all.

“Yet this one has,” the Elder replied. “Many have failed to track it. It has moved from village to village these past three weeks, hunting perhaps. Always hunting and never finding...always burning but never satisfied.”

“When was it last seen?” Mikhail asked.

“In the village of Novoselo, two days travel to the northwest.

“Then I must leave at once!” Mikhail declared. And so he did, that very evening. For all noble knights know that there is no better time to do good than the present.

“Good evening,” Mikhail greeted the man with a low bow as he dismounted Spirit. Every noble knight remembers to be polite, no matter how tired he may be. “My horse and I seek shelter from the night's storm.”

“Stallion...” Spirit whispered, but his head drooped so low that no one seemed to hear him.

“You are Mikhail Andreyevich,” the blacksmith replied in a deep, well-spoken voice. He moved forward on his crutch and extended a hand of welcome. “My name is Yerlan. Long have we heard of your good deeds in the south. You may find rest with our village. My daughter will tend to your horse.” Yerlan turned and called softly: “Aruzhan.”

“You must be weary from your long journey, my boy.” The blacksmith gestured to a stool near the workshop's fire. “But if you please, have a seat and tell me what brings you to our Altai Village.”

“I seek a dragon.” Mikhail sat carefully on the stool with his back straight and his shoulders squared, for every knight knows to show respect to an elder. “I have hunted him for a long time. His trail led me here.”

The blacksmith nodded gravely as he sat down across from the young knight and stretched his lame leg gingerly in front of him. “Your fame as a mighty dragon hunter precedes you, Mikhail Andreyevich. So does your reputation. It is said that you are faithful and true in all that you do. The people of our village have no love of dragons. They will assist you in whatever way they can.”

“He gave his people the best he had,” the blacksmith nodded gravely. “But in the end, he could not protect them from the evil that drove us to exile.  Another story for another evening, perhaps. But for now, you are weary. You may lodge in the room above this workshop.”

“Thank you,” Mikhail bowed as he rose. “But first I will see to my horse.” For a knight always thinks of his friends' comfort before his own.

It's not easy being a princess, you know. Oh, there's glamor alright. Beautiful gowns, glittering jewelry, silken gloves and plenty of attention from handsome knights, all of which is...well, quite wonderful. But except for one very tired knight in tarnished, frost-covered armor, Aruzhan now had none of these things.

“I--” Mikhail paused awkwardly. Aruzhan bowed in polite greeting.

“My horse--” Mikhail began again. The young woman gave him a warm, patient smile that set her hazel eyes sparkling.

“You—why, you're a princess!” the exhausted knight finally exclaimed in amazement.

“I was, once upon a time,” Aruzhan answered in a soft, sweet voice as she reached up to brush Spirit's mane again. “Now I am simply Yerlan's daughter, which is quite wonderful enough. And you are Mikhail Andreyevich, the famous dragon hunter from the south. I have heard much about your adventures.”

“...Thank you,” was all Mikhail could think to say. Though he was embarrassed to say it, the noble knight had also heard many rumors about this princess-in-exile, a woman famed for her compassion, her kindness, her good works and virtue. But he had not expected to find her in a stable in Altai village!

Mikhail had met many damsels, but in between rescuing them from goblin towers or shielding them from dragon fire, well...there had never been much time for conversation. Now that he had the time, Mikhail could think of nothing to say. His shy, talking stallion was little help. Spirit too busy happily munching on a bag of oats that Aruzhan had given him.

And what hospitality! For the villagers were quick to welcome the famous dragon hunter and his stallion with bonfires and roasted meats, winter games and long conversations filled with laughter.

“So this is why you return so late to my father's workshop each night.” Aruzhan smiled sweetly and approached the knight. “There are many people here who would gladly help you keep watch for your dragon.”

“Long have I hunted this beast,” Mikhail replied nobly, grateful to finally have things to say. The knight knew a great deal about dragons, after all. His dark eyes filled with determination as he sheathed his sword. “It is my quest, and my responsibility to bear.”

“They are fearsome, awful creatures,” Aruzhan agreed. Her hazel eyes flickered with an understanding that Mikhail had seen in many burned villages on his long journey.

“You yourself have been attacked by a dragon before?” Mikhail asked gently as he looked down at her .

“When I was a child,” the princess explained quietly. “A great fiery serpent learned of my father's kingdom and all its wealth. It set our town ablaze one moonless night before anyone could recognize the danger. Though the spreading fire trapped me in my room, my father broke through and carried me to safety. He has always taken care of me,” she smiled. Gracious princesses always find reasons to honor their parents, after all.

“Your father might not think it safe for you to be up here where I await yet another dragon.” Mikhail felt his face grow red as he spoke. Knights can't help but be overly protective at times.

“Oh, I always let him know when I climb the tower to watch the northern lights.” Aruzhan gestured at the glowing bands of green and blue and white that began to dance in the sky over the snow-capped mountains like heavenly waves.

“Many nights I watched the night sky in my own land to the south,” Mikhail spoke after many long minutes, “but we never had such beautiful sights as these.” He stared in wonder as the soft lights ebbed and flowed over the darkened valley. “You have an eye for the beautiful, Aruzhan Yerlanovna.”

“And what do you watch for in your own night sky, Mikhail Andreyevich?” Aruzhan asked politely as she rested her gloved hands next to Mikhail's on the tower railing.

Now a knight always remembers to notice those around him, and Mikhail soon discovered he was not the only one in Altai Village who was faithful and true.

One day, as he and Spirit galloped off to fight warlocks in the north woods of the valley, he saw Aruzhan taking warm bread to the lonely widow at the edge of the village. While walking wearily back to his quarters after another long night awaiting the dragon, he spied Yerlan's daughter milking the cows in her sick neighbor's barn by the light of dawn. From his window above the blacksmith's workshop, he watched the exiled princess teach the candlemaker's daughters how to braid their hair.

“The princess tries very hard to help others feel important,” Spirit whispered to Mikhail in between mouthfuls of oats each morning.

“My father says the eastern pass is now free of snow,” Aruzhan spoke one evening as the familiar glow appeared over the mountains. “You are free to continue your quest.”

“Then the time has come for me to go.” For a knight always fulfills his duties. And yet...and yet a part of Mikhail's noble heart wished the mountain pass was still blocked. He had come to appreciate very deeply his friendship with this soft-hearted princess.

Oh, it's not easy to build friendships, you know. Nowadays, people mean many things when they say the word “friend.” Friends like and admire us for who we are, of course. But true friends are also the sort of people who set wonderful examples, who help us feel as though we want to be our best selves. When we are with them, we are often surprised by just how good we are. In short, true friends help us become nobler knights and gentler princesses.

“My father would go with you if he could,” Aruzhan continued softly. “I too would help if I knew how. As she reached a gloved hand to brush her hair from her eyes, Mikhail noticed a familiar red mark on his friend's arm beneath her sleeve.

“You were burned by the dragon that day,” he spoke quietly, but his voice turned grim.

“My father and I were both hurt that day,” Aruzhan nodded and slowly drew back the long sleeve of her colorful jacket. In the glow of the northern lights, Mikhail saw the thick red scar that twisted along the princess's left arm, an ugly burn long since healed.

Thanks to his brightly polished shield, Mikhail himself had never been burned, but he had seen many such wounds in his time as a dragon hunter. At the thought of his gentle friend suffering so, his voice caught in his throat.

“Sometimes, it is still...difficult,” Aruzhan admitted, guessing her companion's thoughts. “For a time I stopped trusting my parents, my closest friends, even myself.”

“And how—that is, have you begun to trust again?” In Mikhail's experience, doubt and hopelessness were very difficult poisons to overcome. Not everyone had a little box full of ashrooms, after all.

“Some wounds need time to heal. Some need desire. More than anything else, I wanted to learn to trust again. And one day I realized that whether this ugly mark was only skin deep or reached down to poison my very heart...was up to me.”

“Some wounds should not have to be suffered.” Mikhail's hand tightened on the hilt of his father's old sword in anger. A noble knight is always slow to anger...unless he sees another mistreated.

“Many in our village would be sad to see you go,” Aruzhan changed the topic with a smile, but Mikhail noted with surprise that there were tears in her eyes. “You and your horse have done much good here.”

“Stallion,” Mikhail stammered, unsure of what to say next and partly wishing they were still talking about dragons.

The dragon.


Now Mikhail's thoughts focused with terrible quickness. He had followed a dragon to Altai Village. The princess—and all the other villagers too, of course—could still be in danger. But the noble knight would find the beast and slay it before it could do any more harm!

“Spirit and I have been very happy here.” Mikhail met the gaze of Aruzhan's hazel eyes with a sad smile. “But there are promises I have made to many that I must keep,” he continued gently but firmly. “I must see my duty to the end, Aruzhan Yerlanovna.”

Spirit's hooves thudded across the icy ground as he and Mikhail rode towards the morning sun just rising over the valley. The two friends had left Altai Village before dawn the very next morning, determined to begin their quest anew. Yerlan and many others had seen them off at the village gates. Aruzhan had waved sadly from the nearby church tower.

And Mikhail Andreyevich was very noble indeed. He had faced dark days before, in black swamps and blinding sandstorms, in the deepest of caves, through thunder and lighting and the fiercest of winds—why, he had faced it all with the patient kindness and fearless determination that marks all good men!

Dream are strange things, aren't they? Many of them are so silly as to mean nothing at all. Others seem so real that we remember them long after we wake...and the feelings stay with us even longer.

Mikhail could never quite remember the dark, dark dreams he had that night in the far northern forest. But he would never forget the feelings they gave him. When the knight finally awoke, he felt simply awful. His heart had not been this heavy since that moonless night, many years ago, when he had lost his father and brother. As Mikhail reached for another ashroom, he raised himself on his elbow and looked around.

Spirit was gone.

The knight sprang to his feet, the ashroom quite forgotten, and all the hairs on the back of his neck raised in alarm. In the blink of an eye, the experienced hero read the tell-tale signs around him: the cruel claw marks in the ground, the snapped tree trunks, the burned bushes.

The dragon had returned.

“Spirit!” the knight called out as he quickly fastened his shining armor and drew his father's sword. “Spirit!” But there was no sign of Mikhail's faithful friend.

Now any noble knight puts his friends' safety above his own. Mikhail would have abandoned his quest then and there if it meant saving his stallion. But he didn't have to. The knight's sharp eyes read the hoof marks in the ground all too well. His horse had left at a gallop, followed by the trail of damage through the forest that marked the dragon's path. The tracks lead west, back towards Altai Village.

There are many tales of heroic journeys and epic adventures, but none of them quite compare with the westward trek of Mikhail Andreyevich, the dragon hunter. With the single-minded focus that marks all dedicated champions, Mikhail followed the tracks westward. The sun set, the moon rose, and still the knight pressed on, through the thick trees of the boreal forest towards the familiar mountains rising in the distance. The moon sunk lower as dawn blossomed into day, and Mikhail strode tirelessly past the frozen lakes. For three days he followed the tracks of friend and foe, never pausing, never sleeping, barely eating or drinking.

The sun had begun to set in the distance as Mikhail finally reached the narrow pass that wound through the mountains to Altai Village. But even as Spring bloomed elsewhere in this broad and distant land, here a heavy snowfall had blocked the knight's way. The tracks of both stallion and dragon stopped at the thick wall of ice that kept Mikhail locked outside the beautiful valley.

And when knights or princesses need help, it most likely comes when they are trying to help others.

“Mikhail.” The knight heard the familiar, gentle whisper behind him. Without a moment's pause, Mikhail leaped to his feet and turned to wrap his arms around Spirit's neck in a tight hug. How his friend had escaped the dragon or where he had come from did not matter for the moment, so happy was the knight to meet his horse—his stallion—again.

“The dragon—claw marks around the campfire—followed for three days—saw you galloped away—was able to guess its size—so glad you're alright!” It was a good thing that Spirit was still his shy, quiet self. Mikhail had enough to say for both of them, and the stallion simply shook his mane in silent agreement as the knight continued for some time.

“...and if you kick with your hooves, and I strike at the same point, we may be able to break through this ice!” Mikhail concluded excitedly as he raised his sword once more. But the stallion remained standing as before.

“Mikhail Andreyevich,” he finally whispered sadly, “do you not realize what has happened here?” Mikhail followed his stallion's gaze and felt his heart freeze as he saw the thick blue smoke of dragon fire rising from the valley.

“We aren't too late.” Mikhail hacked at the ice wall in vain. “We can't be!”

“It is better this way,” Spirit whispered, but Mikhail couldn't hear him over the ringing of his sword.

“Mikhail Andreyevich,” Spirit whispered again. The desperately noble knight kept striking uselessly at the blocked valley pass.

“Mikhail.” Spirit's sad, gentle voice rose well above a whisper. “You are the dragon.”

Mikhail's reflection stared numbly back at him through the gashes he had cut into the ice wall.  His father's sword fell from his hanging gauntlet and clattered forgotten on the hard ground at his feet.  The Knight thought he saw, ever so faintly, dragon fire and smoke clouding the whites of his eyes.  And in that terrible moment, Mikhail knew in his heart of hearts that what Spirit had told him was true.

"To your own self be true," the saying goes.  But there are times in life when every boy and girl, every knight and princess, makes choices that keep them from being their "own" self...their best self.  Of course, knowing that each of us has these terrible moments gazing into the ice mirror doesn't make them any easier.

"The princess..."  Mikhail's desperate voice broke the heavy silence.  For even in moments of great despair, a true knight is quick to think of others before himself.

"The princess is safe," Spirit quickly replied.  "All the villagers are.  They took shelter in time."

Mikhail nodded wordlessly and stared numbly at his worn face in the ice's reflection.  "The ashrooms," he spoke in a bare whisper as he slowly sunk to his knees on the frozen ground.  "It was the ashrooms, wasn't it?"

Spirit gently nuzzled his fallen friend, but remained silent.

"They were always wrong," the Knight continued.  "I knew it was dangerous to numb my heart, but I had no idea I would become...this.  Every town that was burned...every field that was trampled...all along, I was attacking those villages."

The stallion nodded sadly.  The moon rose high in the night sky, and still Mikhail remained motionless, his knees slowly melting the bitter frost of the hard ground beneath him.  And Spirit silently grieved with his friend.

At length a bright moon beam glanced off Mikhail's always-polished shield and caught his downcast eye.  "Nothing can polish this armor!" the Knight suddenly spoke.  "It is meant for someone who is faithful and true...."  Fierce anger swelled in his heart, and he threw his shield to the ground, then his helmet.  The rest of the Knight's shining armor soon followed.  Mikhail quickly lifted the heap of precious protection and cast it through a crack in the ice covering a nearby stream.  "Please do what you can to help our friends in Altai Village once the mountain pass clears," the Knight whispered to Spirit as he hugged the stallion tightly.

Without another word, Mikhail turned and walked south into the darkness.

"Please wake up.  You are in danger.” 
 The soft voice had barely been a whisper, but then, Aruzhan had always been a very good listener. The kindest princesses always are, of course.

Now as wonderful as heroes are, the story books teach us that heroines are quite just as important. Even the best knights only reach their potential with the help of kind and courageous princesses. A life with no one to fight for is a lonely life indeed.

And Mikhail was lonely.

He did not know how long he had wandered alone through the great forests after casting off his armor and leaving Spirit behind. His beard had grown long and tangled, his body had grown thin on a rough diet of berries and river fish, and his shoulders drooped with shame.

The ashrooms had long kept Mikhail numb to sadness and despair; they had kept him from experiencing life in all of its rich complexity. Now, for the first time he could remember, he felt sorrow...felt it more deeply than he imagined was possible. For a life that is truly lived to its fullest is hard at times. Sometimes even the bravest knights and the kindest princesses have bad days. That is what makes the wonderful moments of life, so...well, wonderful!

But for Mikhail, wearily rounding the last bend in the road that lead to his home village, this was not one of those moments. Many moons had waxed and waned since he last crossed under the familiar birch gates. The colorful leaves of fall had all but fallen from the trees as he made his way through the village center at sunset and came to a fork in the road. Before him, in the distance, stood the Village Elder's house. A welcoming whisp of smoke curled from the chimney. To his left lay the western field, and beyond that the forest, and somewhere deep in the dark shadows of those thick Siberian firs lay the secret ashroom cave.

Swallowing hard, Mikhail strode past the dark path and approached the Elder's familiar house...his home. Weary as he was from long months of sorrowful wandering, Mikhail still remembered that the best decisions always lead home to family. And when his adoptive father burst from the cottage door and wrapped the fallen Knight in the tightest of bear hugs, Mikhail's shoulders felt lighter than they had in a long, long time.

As you well remember, the Village Elder was a kindly man who loved the Knight as if he were his own son. And love has a way of unlocking hearts and loosening tongues. Mikhail told him everything. The Elder listened quietly as Mikhail related his journey to the far North, his difficulties hunting the dragon, his long stay at Altai Village, his friendship with the lost Princess, Aruzhan, and his heartbreaking discovery that he, a noble knight who fought so hard to be faithful and true in all that he did...had also been a wicked dragon all along.

At this the Elder's eyes glittered, and a tear ran down the old man's cheek to match Mikhail's own sorrow. The bowls of borscht grew cold as the two men sat in silence, the son ashamed and hurting, the father wishing he knew how to help. Sometimes, even the very best of parents don't know the right answers to give their children, though they dearly wish they did.

“I finally understand you now, Andrey,” the Elder spoke softly to himself as he gazed out the window at the cold autumn rain. “I finally understand...”

“My father?” Mikhail slowly lifted his head to stare at the Elder in surprise. “Understand what?”

“Understand why he didn't kill the fearsome dragon that attacked our village that night you and I were in the woods. He could have, you know,” the Elder smiled as though recalling pleasant memories. “Andrey was the best dragon hunter of his day. A mighty knight, fearless and kind. Like father, like son, Mikhail Andreyevich.”

“Vitaliy was the better Andreyevich,” Mikhail answered bitterly. “My brother was the very example of faithfulness and truth. He would be ashamed of what I have become because of those cursed ashro--”

Mikhail stopped as though bright snow had been thrown in his eyes. Only he and Vitaliy had know about the ashrooms. And if the poisonous plant had turned even a noble knight such as Mikhail into a wicked dragon, then Vitaliy...

“And now you understand as I understand,” the Elder nodded sadly. “Have you never wondered, Mikhail, why you still carry your father's sword? Why it didn't disappear along with him that night?

Mikhail stared down at the dusty scabbard that hung loosely from his ragged belt...the only piece of his armor that he had brought back with him. “Father never even put it on for the battle,” he spoke softly.

“Because he left your house that night to save, not to slay,” the Elder finished the thought. “To save, if he could, your brother from himself and the monster within him.”

“Small comfort to the monster who has been left behind.” 

 “You are no monster!” the Elder replied sharply.  “Whatever else you are, you are a knight, a man of nobility and kindness.  You must choose to believe that.”

And Mikhail wished he could.  But sometimes it is difficult to see the best in ourselves, even when those who love us see it so clearly.  Without another word, Mikhail stood from the table and, with a deep bow of respect, excused himself for the night.

Of course, sleep rarely comes to a troubled mind. And Mikhail was troubled indeed. Dark thoughts and painful memories drove away the rest that he desperately needed. The evening so long ago when he and Vitaliy—just boys then!—had stumbled upon the red glow of the ashroom cave. The night when he and the Elder had trembled in the forest clearing as the dragon's shadow had swallowed the starlight. Village after burnt village that he and Spirit had met on their long quest. Aruzhan's warm smile atop the church tower under the dancing Northern lights. The spark of trust and hope in the Princess's eyes—so rare for one who had felt the terror of dragon fire. Mikhail's own haggard reflection in the cracks of the ice mirror, where he had first seen the monster's smoke and flame in his own eyes.

Memory after memory crashed down upon the fallen Knight as he lay in the familiar bed, a place where he had spent many nights of his youth dreaming of nobility and courage and daring deeds of kindness and goodness. “Faithful and true in all that I do,” he heard a boy's voice—his own—echo in the darkness. “Faithful and true in all that I do.”

Thoughts and emotions are strange things, aren't they? Alone among all the beautiful creatures that call this earth home, Knights and Princesses can choose what they think and feel. It is among the rarest of gifts, and so rarely understood. For far too many people allow their thoughts and feelings to control them instead...and it often leads to misery.

Without question, Mikhail felt miserable: miserable and afraid and confused. And all at once, he remembered how good it had felt not to feel at all. He remembered how tall he and Vitaliy had stood as the ashrooms cleared away their feelings, dulled their fears, and focused their minds. For months now, Mikhail had been a shadow of the noble Knight he once was, a broken and lost man wandering in the endless forest.

“I am tired of feeling shame and sorrow.” Mikhail hissed to himself as he rose from his old bed in the middle of the starless night. “I am sick of discouragement.” He moved silently through the Elder's house and lit a torch in the embers of the fireplace. “I am weary of despair.” The fallen Knight closed the front door behind him and strode quickly through the darkened streets of his village. His hand tightened around the small wooden box that had hung empty at his belt for far too long. “And I finally know exactly what to do,” he muttered towards the heavy clouds above.

As he reached the western field, Mikhail broke into a jog, then a run, past the old bathhouse and into the trees. The light of his torch glimmered and dimmed as he dashed ever faster and deeper into the gnarled shadows of the forest.

Memories good and bad were plentiful in the Village Elder's house that night. They had kept the old man up as well. At length he had risen from his own bed to check on Mikhail. Parents often do this, you know, even after their children have grown up. It reminds them of selfless thoughts and loving feelings which are more important than any others. In his own grief, the Village Elder hoped for a reminder...but found an empty bed.

With a speed that would impress even Spirit, the Elder ran from his house and through the village. He had learned from Mikhail the location of the accursed ashroom cave earlier that evening. The Village Elder was a very wise man, but even the village beet farmer, Ivan, (who was...somewhat less wise) would have guessed where the fallen Knight had gone.

As the Elder reached the edge of the western field and caught his breath, he saw a tremendous spout of flame shoot up in the night sky from deep in the forest. “I am too late,” he gasped, and bitter tears of sorrow sprung to his old eyes, sorrow for his lost son, and sorrow for their village that would surely be burned before the morning came. And then the Elder began to run once again...straight into the forest.

As a rule, it is rarely a good idea to chase fiery dragons into dark forests armed only with a set of pajamas and a sputtering torch. But the Village Elder carried something else with him as he worked his way through the grasping branches of the gnarled trees. He carried his love for his son, and love is a weapon more powerful even than dragon fire. Love conquers fear and chooses hope...even in the darkest of forests.

But the Village Elder's hope began to quake as the light ahead grew hotter and brighter. At length the old man stepped into a small forest clearing and shaded his eyes against the pillar of fire before him.

There stood Mikhail, dark against the roaring flames, a small wooden box clutched in his hand. His father's gleaming sword leaned against the nearby stump of one of many trees which had been chopped down to feed the bonfire that now engulfed the ashroom cave. The domed roof had already collapsed in on itself, and the gutted cavern sunk deeper and deeper into the flame-softened mud. A dusty red glow from hundreds of wilting ashrooms disappeared under burning wood and falling rock.

Mikhail turned and noticed the Village Elder for the first time. He bowed in respect, and nobility and clarity shone in his eyes.

“I am a Knight.” Mikhail stood tall and grim amidst the smoke billowing from the ruined cave and tossed the small box into the roaring flames.  “I slay dragons...even my own.”