The soldier had deliberately walked his horse right over the fallen yarmulke, so that it was crushed in the mud
Shimshon wasn’t a bad kid. He was just very mischievous. Being orphaned from his father when he was a baby meant that often there was no male figure in his life to make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble.
People felt bad for him. Shimshon, the kid who was always running out of school to practice with a bow and arrow. Shimshon, the kid who once accidentally set fire to the town storage house because he was experimenting with creating a fire with sticks and stones.
Everyone knew his name. Not everyone took the time to get to know him.
But on this day, Shimshon wasn’t worried about what the townspeople thought of him. Not that he ever did, really. But today, he was especially excited and distracted. The king of the Northern Kingdom, His Majesty Edwin Balor V (or was it IV? Shimshon couldn’t remember, but he didn’t really care), was taking his annual parade throughout his kingdom. What Shimshon did care about was catching a glimpse of the king, who, according to rumors, was passing through the nearby town just below Shimshon’s little village atop a mountain.
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