Solitude of the Season

A moment of silence passed as soft flakes began leisurely drifting down from the inky blackness, the first of the Christmas snow. The knight knew this grief all too well, the grief of being forced to lose everything before you were old enough to comprehend precisely what you'd given up. To be turned over to the order when you were barely old enough to walk. Raised by strangers, taught to read, write, fight. Never allowed to laugh or cry much less play like a normal child. Leaving ones family behind along with the possibility of ever having a family. Being told comfort would be found in faith and books, but never in the arms of another. Being forced to live and die for a God you had no choice but to follow because to deny him would mean disgrace to yourself and all your kin. Maybe he had seen more than a promise to a dying friend in the platinum haired child he agreed to mentor. Perhaps he had seen more of himself than he cared to admit.