For a country like Britain, a day like this one was considered good weather. It was not raining, and it was not snowing, but a fairly thick layer of snow covered everything surrounding the castle. The castle grounds looked breathtaking this evening, however, as the golden sun sank beneath the horizon.

At the castle, a maiden by the name of Rae took advantage of this twilight hour to practice her archery before night fell. She was a lady knight, the only one in the world, as far as anyone knew. At twenty-one, she was the youngest of the Knights of the Round Table, which was what the people called the knights who fought under Arthur's command. It was known across the land that Sir Arthur was a noble and honorable knight, as well as undefeated in battle, and one day he was to become a great king.

He and his Knights had just come back from a long and dangerous mission. They returned, but not alone. During their mission they managed to rescue two prisoners who had been unjustly arrested and abused by their dictator. The prisoners were Woads: one was a young boy, who was so ill when they found him that it was a miracle that he returned with them alive. The other was a young woman, who was born of noble blood among her people. When the Roman Marius came and dominated her village in Britain, she and anyone else who refused to work for him were put in the dungeons and tortured.

Guinevere, the name of the young woman, was very outspoken and at first even argued with Arthur, who was British but fought for Rome, about his allegiance. Somehow though, by the time they all returned to the Roman embassy in the British Hills, Arthur had fallen in love with this bold and beautiful maiden. He confessed this secret affair to his right-hand knight and friend, Sir Lancelot. Lancelot, however, thought it not wise to love a Briton, but did not have the heart to tell his friend so.

So now at the castle, everyone had just finished feasting and welcoming the Knights, and Rae was walking along the snow-covered ranges to the target that she thought suited her best. But as she drew back the string to fire, she heard footprints behind her. She let go of the arrow, and it missed the bull's eye, landing on the far edge of the target. She glared at the target, and then she heard a young man speak.

"Your aim is not as sharp as usual, Rae," said Lancelot. "You are our best archer, and I know your eyes are much keener than that." He sat down on a bench not far from where she stood.

She recognized the voice and turned around, intending to be cross with Lancelot. Though when she faced him, she saw he was not looking at her. He had his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, and he was staring at the ground in front of her, his eyes distant and a frown on his handsome face. She had known him for seven years now, and he did not usually comment on her shooting unless it was good, for he was like an understanding older brother to her. She knew something had to be wrong. It was true; he was like a brother to her, but lately she had been feeling differently about him somehow. The last time she saw him so distressed, she had tried to comfort him as he always did for her. But many times she found she had to resist the urge to touch his face while they were talking. One time she even had a dream in which Lancelot had kissed her, and she had not wanted to wake up. This sudden passion scared her. She tried not to think about why she was feeling this way, afraid of what might happen if she did.

She aimed once again at the target, pulled back and fired, and the arrow landed right on the bull's eye. Then she walked over to where his bench was, and sat down next to him. She placed her bow in her lap, but the bow was so long that its end extended into his lap, though he did not mind.

After a silent minute, she asked softly, "What's wrong?" and she looked sideways at him, her dark eyes wise and wistful.

He glanced at her and said, not very convincingly, "Why would you think anything was wrong?"

She said nothing, but after a second looked away and stared out over the archery ranges, her eyes sad. Sensing that something was troubling her mind, he softened. He looked at her and saw that her lovely face was tired and weary. It saddened him to see that her eyes -- those eyes that never stopped shining -- held painful thoughts. He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her, something he has done many times on occasion when she was upset. But it would not be appropriate now, since it was he who was the one who was supposed to be troubled. However, he could not forget the fragrance of her hair when she was in his embrace -- the sweet smell of lavender. And more than once this fragrance had almost driven him to kiss his maiden friend, but he had stopped himself in time. He knew in his heart that as knights, nothing could ever happen between them....

He suddenly snapped out of his reverie, silently scolding himself for thinking about such things again. His thoughts went back to Arthur and Guinevere. Sighing, he gently took the bow from her hands and held it up in his. "This is a good bow," he said quietly, fingering the engravings upon it.

"You gave it to me," said Rae, wondering why he was speaking of the bow at a time like this.

"Yes, I know. I knew it would prove useful to you before long. Many a target you have hit with this bow. Your aim has become exceptional...." He drifted off, and neither one spoke for a long time. Then suddenly he said, "Tell me something, when you were aiming just now, you hit the target. And you hit it because you were concentrating completely on the target, were you not? If there was a distraction, do you think you would have hit it?"

Rae remembered the distraction earlier, the distraction that Lancelot was apparently oblivious to being the cause of. "No," she said.

Lancelot seemed very thoughtful at this answer, and said, almost like a question, "Then there can be no distractions."

Rae now understood. She chose her words carefully and she spoke gently, "But in order to shoot at a target, every bow must have an arrow. Without an arrow, there would be no targets at all."

Lancelot looked at her, his brown eyes shining, something dawning on his face. He did not speak, however, but looked away, and he seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

And Rae said quietly, "Maybe she is his arrow."