[ WP ] A knight wanders 11th century Europe , looking for a knight who saved his life in the Crusades . He 's fairly sure it 's a woman .

There was a battle held in stillness, in memory, 
 
 Lofted the standard of a enemy mine, 
 
 The outstretched hand appearing like grace. 
 
 Heroics of war are truly a forgery. 
 
 After the bodies are gathered, suspended in brine. 
 
 He is left bereft with out a place, 
 
 Hounded by the shades of eternity, 
 
 For home has forgotten the truth of his face. 
 
 There is whisper of the sands of time. 
 
 He goes to places seeped in despair and lechery. 
 
 One night he is sick of dreams and abandons the brace, 
 
 Staggers to a darkened shrine. 
 
 There is a nunnery with silent bells 
 
 Here is where the cold knight fell. 
 

