[Quiet Man Cometh]

Mistral started slightly at the suddenness of Dame Amelie’s charge. She urged Claude forward, and the horse took his customary few steps to get up to speed, but quickly enough was galloping down the line. Through the slit in her helm, Mistral sighted her opponent and leveled her lance.

Mistral bit back at her own anxiety, facing the big warhorse and its strangely armoured rider. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears within the confines of her helm, was even annoyed by the sound of her own breathing.

There was the crowd, and the drumming of hooves, and then Mistral felt like she had charged headlong into a tree. She tried not to lose her breath, white knuckled her lance, and heard the shower of splinters that bounced off her armour and helm. Staggered, she gasped for breath but held her seat, supported by unseen arms while she cleared the daze from her head.

Without realizing it, she had closed her eyes in the last half-second, and now they were open wide as she reigned in, Claude, trying to turn him at the same time to see what just had happened.