Essay on My Own Sword - Original Writing
On a stifling summer morning in Camelot, Sir Percival turned and saw a little boy, about age five or six, bounding toward him. The young boy’s shaggy brown hair bounced as he raced forward, and his cheeks were flushed bright pink due to exertion.
Only a few paces away from Percival now, the little boy tripped over the too-large sword he carried, and the weapon went sailing into the air. Percival was forced to duck to avoid the flying projectile. Meanwhile, the child stumbled forward and collapsed on the castle training field face first at Percival’s feet.
“Friend of yours?” asked Sir Gwaine, Percival’s best mate and fellow Knight of Camelot. He shucked off his sweaty padded gambeson and chuckled. The rest of the knights had retreated into the castle after quarterstaff training, but Percival and Gwaine lingered beneath the shade of a tall oak tree.
“The boy seems a little dangerous with that flying sword and all,” added Gwaine with a grin.
Percival ignored Gwaine and helped the boy up. Sir Percival towered above most people, and this child barely came up to Percival’s hip.
“Hello.” Percival took a knee on the grass so he was closer to eye level with the wild–haired child. There was something familiar about the boy. “What brings you here?”
The child’s face fell. “You don’t remember me, Sir Percival?”
Percival tried to recall where he might have seen the boy, but nothing came to mind.…