My knight has been composing a 14-stanza poem about my “noble gait” for six leagues now. I am limping. I have a stone in my left hoof. He has not noticed. The poem is, however, going great.

Found a patch of clover by a stream this morning. Sancho’s donkey and I had a quiet moment. No swords were drawn. No giants were charged. Ten out of ten, would graze again.

Day 47 of the quest. We have visited four inns, three of which my knight believed to be castles. The fourth was, in fact, a castle, and he refused to enter it on principle.

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