There was a sharp inhale as Win stepped over the hill and looked her first upon the fort at Hamatian's Wall. Roman soldiers. Not her Roman soldiers, not the same who plundered her village and took her only brother, but Roman nonetheless. Their armor always flashed sharply in the light.
It was strange to think of, how far she'd traveled from home. Across land and mountain, river and sea, somewhere along the way her native Gaelic had turned into Briton, tribal names went unrecognized and the legend of Tam Lin had changed into the legend of Sir Arthur and his Samatian Knights. There were only eight now, but mortality had only added to the stories, added martyrdom.
The problem now was not necessarily getting into the fort, but the explanation for her appearance. Win knew that she had been discovered. There had been signs among the trees and fallen leafs—half a print here, the smudge of a heel, and at times she had felt the intensity of a stare on her figure. She was sure that someone had been tracking her ever since she arrived at the western edge of the forest, and had been watching for almost three and a half days now. Win suspected it was the scout.
The scout.
He had left something behind the other day, a gentle warning, if there ever was such a gesture: she had woken predawn to the white tipped feather of a hawk on her left and she knew that he'd been closer than she realized.
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The tavern was merry tonight, the knights had just returned five days ago from a successful mission and celebration had commenced following Arthur's announcement that the next would not be for more than a month's time.
Lancelot immediately sauntered over his latest chase followed by an amused Gawain and more giddy Galahad, Gareth followed his nose to food and drink, Bors charged off to his Vanora and Dagonet sat at the barstool with a quiet ale. Even Tristan had spared a slight curve of the lip. He had not followed the others to the tavern but strode directly to the stables and mounted his horse.
"Looks like Tristan's eager for his woodland lover tonight," Lancelot grinned. All the knights had noticed the scouts recent excursions to the forest.
Galahad grinned, "Nay, not our Silent Tristan—a girl would have to have a hawk perched on her face for him to even take the slightest notice, and even then, he would only see the hawk and not love's bountiful bosom." Laughter followed the young man's remark and then music and soon Vanora was coaxed into another song.
From his usual window overlooking the tavern, Arthur chuckled at the antics of his men, but frowned slightly at Lancelot's remark. He glanced over at the lone rider heading into the hills.
The scout had approached him a few days earlier with news of a girl who had set up camp on the western edge of the Woad forest. From his estimations, the scout said that she had been traveling at least seven months and from the far north. Her saddle bore the embossment of Celtic knots and Gaelic runes and her hair was half braided in northern fashion, but a Samatian tribal tattoo on her shoulder blade indicated a confused heritage. What was more perplexing was her coloring, Tristan described a taller figure with curling brown hair and large amber eyes, slightly almond shaped, her skin had the look of a light tan, but it was simply her color, not the sun. This was not the green eyes and pale skin of the far north. Arthur did not know what coloring this was.
But aside from her odd appearance, the girl did not appear dangerous, she did not spy on the guard rotation, nor did she carry any great weapons, instead she was outfitted with a small crossbow and modest dagger, which Tristan had observed she used mostly for hunting. No sword. No hidden armor. In fact, in the past three days, she hadn't even looked upon the fort. Mostly just concerned with her mount and her camp.
No harm, yet. He would wait then, to find out what this girl wanted.
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Win stepped down from the hill and turned back towards the trees. She would not try to enter the fort tonight. It would just be her and far too many questions. She had wanted to enter with the next hoard of villagers seeking safety from attacks, but the scout had changes plans. They should know of her presence now, and deception would only make matters more difficult. No, she would have to tell some of the truth: a lone traveler seeking shelter, searching for news of a lost brother.
A breath behind her made her start violently, and she turned to stare into dark eyes and a passive face.