She stood next to her husband, a tall man with powerful arms,  flinching at a tenor voice much too high for a man of his stature.  It reminded her of the sound grain used to make in the mills.  For most of their marriage, he’d smelled a lot like the donkeys creating that sound as they walked round and round and round…

“I risk my life, and for what? A note?”  Sir Gripealot mumbled.

Lady Faith sighed.   “Did you read it?”

He lifted it to her face as if the mere act of expending such energy was beneath him.  She ignored the gesture,  straightening a floor-length dress made of brocade befitting her station as his wife.

“In memory of Sir Earnest Gripealot who gave his life…”

“Gave my life?”  He huffed at her.  “I am still very much alive!”

How could he not see the resemblance of his younger face in the aging stone likeness?  How could he miss the fact that all around him were women in skirts past their knees, men wearing jeans and polo shirts, all holding something called smart phones?

“May I finish?”  She asked politely.

“You may proceed,” he said, chin held high.

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