Oracle Pythea

Jupiter Gentian and Rosemary

There were a lot fewer knights than when we started.  A lot of them got killed, sequestered somewhere out of the way, found something better to do with their time, but the ones that remained were the persistent type.
He came to Rose as a platoon of skeletons in fever dream colored flames.  Gen printed her out a sword, and another and another.  We fed them hand-to-hand through the hallways to the line.  Some of us scooped up the broken blades and scurried them back to recycle.  You do what you have to in the castles on thick Jovian clouds.  Then you do it over and over again.
Gen was still a little more person than she was light, you could look at her directly, see the diamond shapes in more silvery light flicker on her shins and forearms.
Just the suggestion of rusty chain and dented plate, and a battered surcoat the color of dead winter oak leaves any place that wasn’t spotted in blood.  Sometimes he was just the tree itself, a pin oak, roots arched and prancing and ending in rust-shod hooves.  Sometimes he was astride the tree’s crotch with a banner on a pike. What did the banner look like?  What was its device? I don’t remember.
Gen, you are my starship.  The good boat under me.
Gen, we need to run.  Any star but this one.  The knight is falling on us.

The last question is how do you surprise the universe enough to make one last run?