The shield is more than metal, greater than the carving or the paint. The shield is the symbol of our protection and that all who carry it are our protectors. It is a symbol of love and courage to do what it takes to keep our community safe - our family, our hearts.
In that darkness the knight carried his shield in front, wary of attack. Upon it was the symbol of his house, showing that which he feared to lose. In reality the road was empty other than the clang of his metal feet and the manor was quite safe, peaceful in the moonlight, awaiting the dawn.
Upon the wall lay a shield, rusted and scratched. Nolan could see that it had been made by a master, forged in fiery heat before setting in cold water. Thereafter it had then been adorned, embellished, decorated. It reminded him of turtles, how they lived inside a shell, keeping their softness hidden.
The shield was a good deal heavier than it appeared. It was a strain upon the arm and hindered the speed that could be made over the dales. It was possible to hide behind the painted metal, yet impossible to run. Leo looked around him, at the trees and quiet road. He entertained the idea of leaving the shield behind, of reaching the city gates while there was still daylight. Prudence could be argued either way, as could risk. So what of his intention? What could be said of need? What were the consequences either way?
My father had a shield, a great piece of protective armour. For the most part it lay upon the floor near the hearth that kept us warm. As a child it was my boat, or a roof when the rain quenched the earth. It was a comforting thing, though plain and functional. He only ever touched it upon the roar of a foe, the call of one who means to harm. He raised it to keep us safe, his heart beating as steady as when he slept. He was always sure of himself and so having faith in him was easy, we simply did our best to emulate his ways and hope to one day be as great.