Their armor shines in the sun.
Man and beast, comrades in arms.
Their armor is dented, if one
Looked closely they might find scuff-marks.
This is not their first battle. The
Horse is no longer spooked by the plumes of
Feathers, the man is not as tense in his
Seat. He does not trouble himself with questions of
Morality and mercy, he only thinks of the
Task at hand. Their forces collide with the
Enemy.

Their armor no longer shines in the sun.
Dust, dirt, blood-stains. Tears in the
Chain-mail, rents in the metal plating.
Sweat slicks the inside, gets in his eyes.
The horse lathered in foam, mane and tail
Knotted, no longer flying in the wind. The
Battle's over, the victory won. The
Man and the Beast ride home, solemn
Thoughts of mortality filling their minds,
Brought on by their comrades who won't
Return home, who fought their last battle.