K is for Knightingale

     Beyond the farthest reaches of the Crudilin March lies Avion.  There, the air is clear and bristling with birds.  Peace is so wrought of the fellowship of winged society that only a single guard resides over it.  They call him Knightingale.

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     Knightingale alighted one day from a somber sky at day’s end.  His shining armor clinked as his feet struck the grass of a meadow full of dandelions.  A light breeze ruffled exposed feathers, bringing with it a shiver.  Knightingale tweeted a note, yet it drowned in the din of his plates.
     “Need be, need be, for a knight in the gale?” he sang.
     “Need be not, need be not, for a knight in the gale,” another bird trilled.
     “Thou fare well here?” asked Knightingale.
     “Well enough, well enough, knight in the gale.  Away, away, to your roost I should say.”
     “A nest?  A roost?  For the knight in the gale?  Nay, nay, I really must stay.”
     “Come westward then, yon knight in the gale.  I shall find for you something.”
     Knightingale flapped his great brown wings and set off.  He soon spotted a young mockingbird.  “Dear brother, hath you a task for me?”
     “Yes, yes, knight in the gale.  Catch me a worm for my sup.”
     Knightingale clattered to the ground very near to a stone.  Beneath it wriggled a worm.  “Come here and sup, dear brother.”
    “Only one for my sup, knight in the gale?”
     “Two then, dear brother?”
     “Nay.  Three, four, knight in the gale.  My stomach is light as the gale.”
     “Four worms, dear brother?  Nay.”
     “Nay, you say, knight in the gale?”
     “Five worms for your sup, lest I be a miser.  It’s never a trouble, for the knight in the gale.”