Sir Arnim Caster, Knight of the Hound, walked across the stone courtyard. He saw the knights standing about, chatting with each other and lamented the fact that they were not common soldiers used to a more disciplined approach. He was about to yell at them, but thought better of it, these were knights, after all. He didn't offer any sign of greeting, merely grumbled as he approached.
"Line up," he commanded. "The royal party will be arriving soon. Smartly now, like proper soldiers."
"We're not soldiers," objected Sir Barnsley, "we're knights."
Arnim's face grew red, and he looked like he would explode in a rage, but then he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
"Then line up like knights," he responded. "The princess will be arriving shortly and the head of our order would like to
