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Emeralde opened her eyes. She blinked in confusion. She was standing on the road outside the old orchard, whole and hearty, her robes intact and her body unbruised. Before her the undead wandered about as if she'd never been here. 
"I guess it was all a dream," she muttered to herself.
She stared at the farmhouse with a sense of despair. Again, she must face the horrors alone.
"What a silly dream! As if I needed rescuing anyway!" she said a bit temperamentally. Then she squared her shoulders and took a determined step toward the orchard.
Her keen senses suddenly picked up the thundering of hooves on the road behind her. "Friend or foe?" she wondered. Standing her ground, she turned around and waited. Though the air was thick, she could make out a horse and rider. And they seemed to be glowing with an odd light, though she realized it was just the weak sun reflecting off their armor as they drew closer. 
The rider stopped several yards from her, his charger's nostrils flaring from the exertion of the run. She looked up at the rider and realized it was a knight ... and one in shining armor at that. "At your service, my lady," he said in a husky voice. Emeralde couldn't help but giggle a little at the unlikely scenario, but she quickly covered it with a ladylike cough. As she composed herself, she peeked up at the knight. He was clearly experienced judging by his armor and demeanor, with many seasons under that shiny plate belt he wore. Why he was here and not at the battlefront, however, seemed odd to her. Yet he seemed sincere enough. He patiently awaited a reply, or response of any kind, in the growing silence.
"Good evening, my lord." Emeralde curtsied and smiled up at the knight. "Are you lost or in need of water? I am happy to help in any way I can."
The knight looked down at the woman from under his helm, making the most of the way it shadowed his eyes. She stood before him with a steely posture that belied her small stature. She wore shabby robes, but he could tell they'd once been of good quality. Her well-cultured voice and manners told him he was dealing with a lady, not a common soldier. 
He removed his helmet, a blond ponytail spilling out. "I was in search of an old friend whom I thought might be in these lands," he replied with an easy charm. "I am Valherst, a knight of the Silver Hand. I know this region well, and it is not the place for a lady such as yourself. Can I offer my assistance?" He smiled down at her, winking.
Emeralde smiled as politely as she could at the handsome knight, but inside her heart sank. The fading memory of Galaxius' message about a knight reverberated in her mind ... I would know him by the name Faithhammer, she recalled silently to herself. This could not be her white knight, but just another stranger who would return to the front soon enough. Besides, he must think I'm some poor little girl who has wandered off and gotten lost, she thought to herself a bit indignantly. She curtsied again and replied, "I am Emeralde. And I thank you for your gracious offer, good knight, but I can fend for myself quite -- " 
Before she could finish her sentence, Valherst leapt off his charger and rushed toward her, a large hammer held high in his hands. Emeralde leaped to the right, ducking her head instinctively. When she heard the whack of his hammer against the brittle bones of a zombie behind her, she realized he was defending her! She quickly turned and joined him in the fight, making quick work of the undead creature with a massive fireball that exploded from her. He glanced at her in surprise, clearly taken aback, before returning his attention to the corpse. 
He stood quietly for a moment as if assessing any potential threat. Then he turned back to her with a hearty laugh. He removed a silver gauntlet and held out his large hand. "Lady Emeralde, 'tis a nice name. But have a little faith ..." he said, hefting his heavy hammer over his shoulder with his other hand. "I would never harm you, my lady."
"Faith ... hammer ..." mumbled Emeralde, slightly dazed as she realized what he'd said and done. Bemused, she placed her small hand in his outstretched palm. "At your service, my lady," he replied gallantly and leaned down to kiss her hand with surprising gentleness. 
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Fendrus Grimmheart
Dabul'jin
