The wind blew, the leaves parted, and there it was; the dreadful beast the priest had warned me about. A most puissant foe, it stood fully forty-five cubits tall. Its four arms were each equipped with an enormous scything blade, and its beady little eyes peered out from beneath a massive wooden helm.
With a sound that would surely chill the bones of a lesser knight, it groaned as a soul lost to perdition. I stood in my saddle and flung my helm over its head in a challenge, and lowered my lance to the ready position.
Forward, bold Rocinante. Our destiny is at hand, for fair Dulcinea del Toboso!
110 words, for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt: