A Tail of Camelot Read Free Page A

and whisker pattern were a mirror image of Calib’s, right down to the small round patch of white fur on his right ear.
    â€œSir Trenton Christopher, felled at the Battle at Rickonback River,” read the fine silk stitching beneath the portrait. Beside the warrior stood a lady dressed in a regal purple dress. She held a mouse-sized needle and thread elegantly in her paw.
    A small tingle rolled down Calib’s spine. His mother had truly been the most talented seamstress Camelot had ever known. This tapestry was the last one Lady Clara had sewn before she had passed away from sea fever manyyears ago. It had been her hope that Calib would not forget what his parents looked like.
    â€œHi, Mom,” Calib whispered. Sometimes Calib would talk to the tapestry as if his parents could hear him through it. Even though he knew it was silly, pretending made him feel less alone.
    Calib finished his dusting and moved on to polishing the suits of armor. By now, his cheek was throbbing. He peered at his reflection in a burnished steel breastplate. The bruise from the acorn was quickly purpling under his fur and turning into a nasty blotch. To add insult to injury, he’d also slept on his whiskers wrong and they were all askew.
    He tried to smooth the ends down, but after a few unsuccessful attempts, Calib gave up. Frustrated, he looked up at Sir Trenton’s kind face.
    â€œHow am I supposed to fight a real enemy if I can’t even win a battle against my own whiskers?”
    â€œA bit of oil will smooth any crinkle out.”
    Startled, Calib turned and saw Commander Yvers approaching. The stout, barrel-chested mouse walked with a slight limp, an injury from the Great War. His golden fur was tinged at the ends with silvery gray hairs. He wore a simple brown robe, the kind he donned for when he did not want to be noticed.
    â€œBut something tells me that is not what is truly troubling you.”
    â€œIt’s nothing, Grandfather. I was just polishing,” Calib said quickly.
    Commander Yvers’s kind brown eyes searched Calib’s own. “You are a mouse of Camelot, Calib. You do not have to bear your burdens alone. ‘Together in paw and tail, lest divided we fall and fail,’ remember? ”
    Every mouse of Camelot knew that motto by heart. It was even inscribed on the doors of the Goldenwood Hall. Calib nodded. He was never good at hiding things from his grandfather.
    â€œMy name was entered into the Harvest Tournament as a prank, but now I’m too ashamed to withdraw and too afraid to go through with it,” Calib confessed. He felt shame creep all the way into the ends of his whiskers. “I don’t know how I’ll ever live up to the Christopher name.”
    Commander Yvers smiled as he looked at the tapestry of his son on the wall. “You know,” he remarked, “when I was a page, they used to call me Yvers Faintheart—I was so shy! Once, I even set the commander’s cloak on fire with a poorly placed candle but was too scared to tell him until his fur began to singe.”
    Calib couldn’t imagine his grandfather as a page, much less one who would make a mistake like that. “Really?”
    â€œReally. And your father was worse. He tried to hide in a burdock bush to avoid his Harvest Tournament. We were removing burrs from his fur for a week! He faced thestrength challenge looking like a hedgehog!”
    Calib laughed, and his grandfather placed a paw on Calib’s shoulder. Together, they looked at Sir Trenton’s tapestry in silence.
    â€œYou know, the knights discuss the tournament candidates at length before we approve the list,” Commander Yvers said quietly. “If you made the cut this year, it’s because we thought you were ready, regardless of whether or not it was a prank.”
    Calib was stunned. “Then why am I so scared?” he asked.
    â€œBeing brave is not about lacking fear,” Commander Yvers said.