‘We said to our kingdom, ‘goodbye’,
Yet here we stand, overlooking it.
We returned to the kingdom, armed,
Yet here we sit, swords unbloodied.’
Burke tapped the end of the pen against his prominent chin, until it actually started to hurt. Things always hurt worse when it was cold, he thought to himself. Then again, it had always been cold, so long as he could remember. The weather was cold, and the people were cold. Even as a knight and a nobleman, if of a dead kingdom, Burke was rarely received in a friendly manner. He was tall, and not in the way that a growing boy was, or even a handsome prince. Burke was freakishly tall, standing at nearly seven feet. Of course, height, and height alone didn’t make one an outcast. In fact, had that been the man’s only issue, Sir Oakley would have likely garnered the respect of his peers. Naturally, Burke, like all other men, was flawed, and with his luck, he was flawed in all the ways that others could notice and pick apart like vultures.