[Quiet Man Cometh]

Mistral lowered the visor on her helm again and stared squarely at her new opponent. It was fun before. Now, it was a matter of honour and she would see this man hit dirt. Preferably on top of a steaming pile of horse manure as well but she tamped down that thought as unbecoming of a true knight.

More sure of herself this time, and with a cry of “beauseant!” Mistral urged Claude forward, though the horse lacked his master’s determination and started at his usual slow clop until he got up to speed, but with a little more of a bounce than usual. Again, she could hear her heart and her breathing in her ears, but she focused everything she could on her lance. It felt lighter this time, other hands helping to keep it level and steady, and she sought out the center of her opponent’s shield.

She braced herself for the coming blow, steeled her grip and shoulder, and when she felt the first scrape of the Northerner’s lance, she twisted and thrust out with her lance, hard, into his shield.