14th April 2020

The arrival of the white Knight at the edge of the playing board should probably have filled Alice with a wonderous sense of relief at her imminent release from captivity. But as we have previously concluded her relationship with Sir Rosehip Hip Chevalier had reached such a delicate point that her heart was inclined to wish a longer liaison than now seemed likely. We must not assume from a point of delicacy that the young lady would ever have wished her prospective rescuer harm in any way, but on occasion the younger fairer sex is inclined to have rum and decidedly fruit punchy thoughts indeed.

Sir Blanco Whiting De Wit was a man of unprecedented valor, the oft successful warrior was of course renowned for being the eternal first mover in every game that ever had been played, a honor he wore both proudly and humbly simultaneously discretely stashed beneath his otherwise virginal breastplate. Blanco was equally infamous for having a head as reliable for keeping facts as a large holed cullender, the poster child for age related forgetfulness his lack of recall had lasted longer than as long as he could remember.

“I do not trust this man!”

“Why ever not, my dear Sir Rosehip.”

Alice somehow managed to slip her tiny hand into the Red Knights left gauntlet. Not an easy task with him sitting high on Sanguine’s back and wielding his axe with the je ne say quoi of a lady whirling dervish.

“Please be calm, Sir Rosehip, I have every faith in your marshal ability.”

This was not the most appropriate moment for the Red Knight to violently dismount Sanguine to tarry napper first in yet another rabbits front doorway.

“Is that fellow quite alright?”

The concern in Sir Blanco Whiting De Wit’s age feeble voice was quite easy to discern.

“I was hoping for a game of Wonderland Kolbenturnier this afternoon. Winner takes the prize quite naturally.”

“What prize is that?”

Alice regretted the question as soon as it ballooned from her mouth like some cartoonish faux pas.

The White Knight removed his equine shaped helm and candidly confirmed the obvious.

“Why you of course, my dear!”

If Alice was not been quite so disgusted by the answer she might have been necessarily flattered.

“Me? A prize? How truly condescending of you, my good fellow!”

Sir Blanco was momentarily quite taken aback and then as was his nature totally forgot the entire conversation.

“Is that fellow quite alright?”

“Well that a whole two minutes I will never get back!”

Alice’s sarcasm was lost of both knights. Sarcasm is not a strong point with those inclined to pursue honor over sensibility.

“Yes. Yes. I am fine than you. Beautiful day for it.”

Having finally managed to right himself for the umpteenth time that day Sir Rosehip commenced to buckling his buckles and strapping his straps.

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