Neither saint, nor sinner was Reynard. He was simply a man, lost in the desert. Not long ago, he had been a knight errant. Lured from the French countryside with promises of fame, wealth, and duty. Of course, the Holy Lands were not what he had been told and these barbaric heathens, tended to be more civilized than his fellow crusaders. He learned the hard way that men were men, no matter their creed or tongue. A slender smile spread across his cracked, chapped lips as he thought about all that had happened to him in the last few years. He had left his small country village a boy full of hope and dreams, and would die in the middle of nowhere a jaded, broken man.

He had been a tall, muscular young man back in Aquitaine. His piercing blue eyes had been keen and his hands strong and quick to any task. It was for that very reason that he had taken up an apprenticeship with the local smith. Being the third son of a small landed noble meant he had to be useful, or join the church. Reynard was a young man of passions, not religious vigor. His skill with the sword matched his skill with the smiths hammer and it wasn’t long before he had gained a reputation as a fighter. A reputation that earned him an invitation from the king’s own knights as they prepared for the Holy See’s crusade. The young noble leapt at the chance, wanting to see the world at large, and hopefully return home a man of wealth and glory with lands of his own. Running a dirty, calloused hand through his dark brown hair, he knew he would never again lay eyes on his homeland.

Reynard had long ago rid himself of his chainmail, his shield, and any extra dead weight. He had kept only his sword, worried he might need to defend himself. But of course, there was nothing around him for miles. Still, he kept the steel blade close, for sentimental reasons now. As the knight sat in the dirt under the shadow of a small rocky outcropping, he wondered if it would not be better to just finish what the desert started himself. Suicide meant he would never see the Gates of Heaven, but he wasn’t sure he cared. All the killing he had done... Surely he was already damned.

The sun beat down upon the baked earth and the knight’s mind drifted in and out of consciousness as days without water took their toll. Reynard swore, he could hear the faint sound of singing. A softly sweet song, in a language he did not know, but to a tune that sounded familiar, brought to him on the wind. The scent of perfume, a feeling of peace, a shadowy form of a woman approaching him... This is it, Reynard thought, This is how I die...

He awoke hours later to a night sky filled with stars. His mind, still groggy was slow to react as he began to take in his new surroundings. The air was still warm, though considerably cooler with the setting of the sun. Reynard realized he was lying on his back on a pile of rugs. A fire crackled nearby and as he craned his head to look in the direction of the light, he winced in pain. He saw a figure then, a dark outline against the night sky. It approached him slowly, a slender finger pressed against soft lips. “Shh rest now. You are safe.” Came a voice,sweet as honey and exotic as myrrh. A skein filled with cool water was pressed against Reynard’s lips, and he drank deeply from it.

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Hello there! Thanks for reading my short set up. Today I will be playing a knight in a part of the world he is unfamiliar with and with a strange woman who just saved his life. Who is she? Well. that’s up to you to decide. A woman from a small local village? A caravaneer's wife? A djinn or genie? An angel? I can play this relatively realistic and historical, or we can go full fantasy. Either way, I would love to include a bit of world building, interesting character development, and, of course, detailed smut. If taking a tumble with a handsome French knight sounds interesting to you, please drop me an orange envelope. And, as always, if a past prompt sounds like more fun, we can do that one too!

~Max xxx