Guardian of the Sword

A sword lay weak and tired, exhausted after a heavy battle. The white cloak slips off and lays wet and sticky by it's side, formerly one, now two, spent beyond repair. The guardian of the a sword wipes it down, cleans it off and lets it rest. An hour before, the sword was well-oiled, ready for battle, at full attention, riding hard and heavy into the cave, to secure the prize - The Golden Sand. The cave was hot, inviting, a world of pure darkness and little air. The soldier carried his sword high and rode fast into the cave, ready to fight for the prize. A white cloak drapes the sword, keeping it from touching The Golden Sand, the sword pushing to get out constantly pushing. The battle is long, the prize retireved, the sword exhausted.