Sir Geoffrey rode with sword aloft, sweet Emily’s ribbons and lace adorning the hilt. A happy smile decorated his swashbuckler face, and the only sign of harm was the deep red cloth that trailed from his arm.
Red like blood, thought the fox in the trees, though Geoffrey was known for blue.
Red like the fox’s plume.
Sir Geoffrey shouted a proud “Halloo,” but the fox’s chase caused the valiant steed to fall. The sword plunged deep into Geoffrey’s heart. Then Lady Emily Vulpine’s severed hand released the hilt. Frail fingers fell, beribboned, to their cushion of lace and leaves.