Listening

Drums echoed through the field as banners whipped in the wind. I tightened my grip on my wooden axe and steadied my round shield. My heart raced, and I felt a wild energy rising in my chest. To my right, a tall warrior in crimson armor shouted, “Steel Wolves of Ironwood, stand firm!” He pointed his blade toward the approaching line of warriors dressed in blue and silver. Our group roared back, stomping shields on the ground in rhythm. As we charged, my nerves spiked. The clash of shields, the cries of warriors, and the pounding footsteps made it feel terrifyingly real. But deep down, I knew no blood would be spilled. This was a grand game—our reenactment at the Ironwood Festival, where people from across the country come together to relive the age of knights and warriors. I later learned this group, called the Brotherhood of Ironwood, was more than just a weekend hobby. They built armor, forged weapons, crafted costumes, and even created music and dances. They lived history—not in books, but with their own hands and hearts. For me, joining them was not just about pretending to be a warrior. It was about friendship, freedom, and the pure joy of playing like a child again. Play is not an escape—it’s a way to stay alive inside.