The Cyclamen Knight was the strongest and among the most beautiful of the Knights Who Bloom.
When the sun hung high for most of a day and the air was soaked in the horrific, sickly wet heat of summer, the Cyclamen Knight was gorgeous.
His hair grew long and flowing, and his flowers would bloom into a beautiful soft pink.
The muscles in his arms were supposed to be stronger than those in another man’s legs.
When the icy, frost-bitten cold set in, The Cyclamen Knight would shrivel.
First his eyes would sink in, blackened and tired from their own peering curiously and half lidded smiling.
Then his muscles would suck in, like his skin was holding it tight to his bones.
Then his skin would pale, growing thin, nearly translucent.
The Cyclamen Knight would wither over the winter, sinking into his suit of armor and hiding behind his shield.
His temper would grow short, and he went hungry more nights that most.
But the spring would come.
But when the knight came back, it wasn’t all at once.
He’d smile at jokes and shirk behind his shield less than before.
Then his eyes, the sockets would lose their shriveled, sunken glare.
Then his body would return, stout arms and clean teeth in turn.
His skin would be the tanned iron it was known for.
He could lift a horse in one arm and his smile could fold a woman’s heart in two
The death of Cyclamen Knight was on the fields of Nouaillé in late Semptember.
His strength had begun to fail him, but it was long from disappearing entirely.
He been fighting four men, his spear and shield whirring and stalling in turn.
He’d grinned to himself, thinking this might actually be a challenge.
His death was as instantaneous as it was unfair.
A quick, savage blow tore through his spine.
The pain began and died before he hacked up his first petal filled breath.
He could see his chest blooming around the spear, his lungs filling with his own blood.
He scratched his hand over his chestpiece in numb disbelief as the world around him started to blur.
He slumped forward onto the spear, not watching through his glazed, half closed eyes as the last of his violently pink petals bloomed.
The Cyclamen Knight was the strongest and among the most beautiful of the Knights Who Bloom.
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