A girl raced along the path, her eyes flickering back to make sure she had lost them. She had not. She kept running. Those Knights of Camelot may be stupid, but they're certainly very brave. They would follow a sorcerer right into his den if their king commanded them. Uther. Just the thought of him filled her with loathing. That man had burned her entire family, with the exception of her little brother. Poor, sweet Emmet had been drowned. But she tried not to think of that. Instead, she focused on the hate and determination that had kept her alive.

Her family had lived in the forest. The Godeon were the descendants of trees themselves, and the firstborn of each generation was the sovereign of the forest itself. They were a dark and mysterious family, with roots tracing back to before a time when the Old Ones ruled the Earth. Luckily for Uther her cousin, Elliot, was a peaceful ruler. But Uther had decided that this powerful dynasty of forest kings should come to an end, regardless of how peaceful they were. We should have attacked him while we had the chance, she thought.

His knights set fire to their house at night, and the timber woven into their very souls burned brightly. But she had escaped with Emmet and a timeworn ring. The ring, gold and set with the purest emerald she had ever seen, had a great source of power that could only be used by the destined Godeon. So far, every single one of this lineage had tried on the ring at age three (an ancient prophecy declared this was when the destined one, the Dywyll, would begin their training) but so far there had been no success. They will have Emmet's or my blood, now, she mused. Emmet!

As they were running, one of the guards had shot an arrow at her back. Emmet blocked it with body. He was badly wounded, but she carefully took it out of his body and healed him. It was not enough. Just as he slipped into unconsciousness, he whispered, "Run."

So she ran. She ran as hard as she could, for Emmet and for mother and every last Godeon that ever lived, for she was the last of them now. The last of her kind.

She did not know how long she ran, dodging arrows and evading swords. Her hate fueled her desire to live. It was her desire to kept the forest people alive and one day raise up one of them against Uther. But no creature can run forever. Her eyes flared gold as she wove a net out of vines and saplings around her with the last of her magic. She had waited until her last gasp to use this spell, for to use it in her state was certain death. The front riders yelled as they crashed into the impenetrable wall of greenery surrounding her. She smiled with satisfaction, and then crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

A 14 year-old Arthur frowned. "Father, should we try to take down the vines?"

"Not now, my son. Take this as a lesson to you, Arthur. Magicians will do anything to evade your grasp, even take their own life. We are lucky this sorceress did not inflict some final form of retribution. Perhaps she was too weak. I was turned into a toad once. I hopped around croaking orders to everyone until the spell wore off."

Arthur laughed, then tried to look serious. "How was my first sorcerer hunt, father?"

"You did excellent," Uther praised. "You even hit the younger one. The girl healed him, though. He's not dead, not even close. He will be drowned, of course."

"Father, is that really necessary? He's still very young and–"

"Not another word. You will soon learn that even the smallest sorcerer is a danger to my kingdom. Come now, you must be tired. This hunt has lasted half the night and I want you home by morning."

As they left, a stealthy figure crept toward the vine enclosure. He opened it with a word as his violet eyes flashed gold. A sudden breeze caught his mulberry cloak; it billowed around him. He stooped down to the sprawled figure and put a hand on her heart. She was still alive. Pouring both life and magic into her, his eyes glowed gold again. Some color flickered into her beautiful face. Her round, green eyes met the dark purple ones.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Anastasia." Her voice was barely audible. The mossy eyes shut and Anastasia entered into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He picked the young woman up and carried her to his camp.

Review/Suggestions welcome and met with much shouting and happiness. Also for those of you who are wondering, those are Mordred's mom and dad.