A Duel of Shadows

A tiny cast-bronze heraldic shield, fallen from an iron lantern bracket, lay face down in the noon dust of the castle courtyard. To permit an emblem of martial honor to grovel upon raw gravel was an intolerable breach of courtly decorum. Approaching with measured strides, I stepped into a classic duelist's stance and drew my slender silver rapier. With a deliberate, measured thrust of the blade's tip, I caught the shield's fluted lower rim. Applying ceremonial leverage, I hoisted the bronze crest upright, resting its burnished face against the stone pediment of the central sundial. Its gilded chevron now catches the brilliant midday glare in steadfast salute.