These old bones, burned black from the winter ash, twisting and mingling in their vexing affair. Snapping as they jerked, groaning as they creaked, so busy in their gossip of one fallen to the lords.
What's this? O'er yonder! The earth lent it's ear. A joy! tis an honour, for the Queen herself had come! Rearing their bows and parting back crooked limbs, for passage only granted to the mistress of the realm.
The residents mirth went unnoticed for the Black Queen had no time, fallen to her guardians, the knight's continued demise. She traveled by dream, sheltered in the fog; just enough, just enough for a brief moment's escape.
As the ashen leaves crumbled to soot, her endless blue eyes traced back the battle. First a murmur now a hum, the Queen followed the echoes from the empty grey shell.
Like a child washed ashore, no, a lover gibbous by the door, here was the defeated, scraps of parts in disarray. Though broken and ashamed, her knight kept his pride, for resolve forbid cast him to the ground, defiantly on the knee.
Cherished bauble, dearest wish, she took up his severed helm and graced it with a kiss. At once his life returned, back into the endless realm, the spark was reignited but he would sleep until she parted.
For she was but a dream, the Queen slept far away. This was their praedormitium meeting as many times afore, imparting him with will from state, a plane beyond the waking door.
Hence she departed, the treants bowing to Her Grace, for the sooner she was gone, the sooner he would come.