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April-1185

Baldwin sped on up the hill, pulling his horse to a stop along the crest. He looked on into the distance, his eyes surveying the path of the narrow road, as it wound its way through the French country-side. The thundering sound of hoof beats were heard as Baldwin’s companions caught up with their fellow knight. “Your home, my lord?” a young soldier on horseback asked with gleeful inquisition. The faint quality of a smile grew over Baldwin’s tired and wearisome face, “Yes.” They paused for a moment to admire the beauty of the French country. Small farms and settlements dotted the country, a river cutting through the green lands and the faint ringing of Church bells made it a charming vision in the spring morning. Baldwin seemed most enthralled by the beautiful scenery, “France…” he murmured.

A young man stood by his humble home. He was at work, splitting wood with his axe. Lifting the tool with ease, he brought it down upon the log with exceptional strength. The log was cloven into two equally split halves. A light breezed blew across the valley, taking the young man’s hair in its refreshing grip. He was young yet strong, emerald eyes glistened in the sunlight, and a shallow beard covered his face. The man wiped several small beads of swear from his forehead. The morning had been beautiful, as usual, but an uncommon silence covered the valley. He thought little of it, and returned to his business. The crack of wood once again resounded. With every stroke the wood pile slowly and steadily grew.