Nikolas Essays (to Save the Day)

Nikolas rode through the snow-filled mountain pass, his trusty grass-mud-horse Crabkiller as swift and silent as the wind. "Ride, Crabkiller!" Nikolas urged. "Ride! We must be through the pass before nightfall."

The weather was cold; the air's chill, carried on a stiff mountain breeze, seemed to pierce directly through the many layers of scarves and thick clothing Nikolas wore. He shivered, put his head to Crabkiller's neck for the warmth; then, startled, he looked up. Had he seen something just there, masked by the snow carried on the wind? He had. It was a guard!

Armoured in blue, the guard stood square athwart the center of the pass. A long polearm of some sort - perhaps a pike - occupied his hands; this he turned sideways as Nikolas approached, blocking the trail. Matching his helmet admirably, the guard's face was also a lovely shade of blue; but this did not stop him from calling out in a deep, booming voice. "You Shall Not Pass!" he proclaimed; and Nikolas, feeling it to be the path of politeness, obligingly came to a halt just short of the guard's pike.

"Why?" Nikolas asked.

The guard examined him for some time. It is possible that this question had never been asked of him before.

Crabkiller tossed her head and snorted. Snow was starting to collect above her nostrils.

"I don't like you," the guard finally decided.

Nikolas was somewhat perplexed. "I've known you for a span of thirty seconds, now, and said one word prior to this," he said. "What possible reason could you have for this distaste?"

The guard considered the matter again.

"I don't like your face," he clarified.

Nikolas frowned. "That is a remarkably poor reason," he said. "Nonetheless: let me attempt to mollify you. I notice that you seem to be suffering from some form of hypothermia; and I currently possess a surplus of scarves, certainly far in excess of your tally of zero. I will give you one, and you will kindly allow me to pass."

"No," the guard replied.

"Fine," Nikolas sighed. "Two. But that's the limit of my kindness."

"I want your horse," the guard said.

"What?" Nikolas said. "You can't be serious."

"I want your horse," the guard repeated.

"Look," Nikolas said reasonably. "Firstly, Crabkiller is not a horse. She's a grass-mud-horse, a species of alpaca. Secondly, she's my only means of transportation; were I to give her to you, I would be forced to travel on foot, utterly dooming my mission. (I'm carrying a message that will save the Kingdom, by the way.) Thirdly, you don't even have any use for her. You're a guard. You stand around all day. What would you even do with her?"

The guard was unmoved.

"All right," Nikolas sighed. "Enough. I want you to consider some facts. You see your pike there?"

"Yeah," the guard grunted.

"How long would you say it is?" Nikolas asked.

The guard looked at it.

"About ten feet," he decided.

"It's closer to twelve, but whatever," Nikolas said obligingly. "Now, let's look at this path. About how wide is it?"

The guard looked around. His eyes widened. "Hey!" he cried and turned back to Nikolas -

- but Nikolas was already gone, off and away on noble Crabkiller's back.

Yay for Nikolas!

Now he'll save the day!