I felt the comfort the reins portrayed from my hand, echoing like a far-off call from a family I never had.
The enormous weight of metal on my shoulders, like the comforting hug a father never bothered to give me.
The lance with a polished tip clenched tight in my hand, like the hand a mother might give her child to hold out of love, titled forward.
Today had all the qualities of a dream; the sky wasn't blue anymore but red. The earth and grass hand-dyed itself brown and black.
The piles of silver and iron strewn about and ran like rivers into lakes around the hill I stood on.
Maybe, this wasn't so much a dream but a scattered nightmare, I felt grit as I charged forward with a landslide of silver and crimson at my side.