The snow drifted down in lazy circles and covered the world below in a thick, frosty blanket. It stood out against the charred black trees and the bodies pinned against them. The mountains overhead loomed over the traveling party, casting a sinister shadow on them.

Guinevere watched her land pass before her eyes under the canopy of the wagon. She shivered as she saw the bodies, forgetting that she had a fur blanket covering her. Snowflakes steered from their path and drifted into the wagon. They fell and melted upon the darkness of her brows and lashes. Guinevere wiped away the tears that fell down her cheeks. Her land was being ransacked and there was nothing she could do about it.

The jolting of the carriage stopped. She looked out onto a meadow, then out to a forest that lay before it. Over the roaring of the wind, she heard the command to keep going. One by one, each knight rode out until only one was left. His black cloak, black hair and black clothing contrasted greatly against the whiteness of the snow. She knew his name before he even told her and she had watched him from the very beginning.

Guinevere's eyes had followed his every movement, her hands longed to lay upon that curly mop of hair…she wanted to hear him speak her name. She froze slightly when he rode beside the wagon, however, she started to speak without knowing what she was saying.

"Your horse is tired," she said, looking him straight in the eye.

"How can you tell if he is tired? We can travel longer distance than this." Guinevere heard a teasing tone in his voice. As she looked into his eyes, she saw a twinkle of laughter.

"I know what I'm talking about. Your horse is too tired. You are too heavy for him."

Lancelot raised one dark eyebrow in an expression of mock shock. "Pardon me lady, but did you accuse me of being fat?"

"Not at all. I am merely saying that your horse is tired. Come into the cart with me. It is nice and warm." Guinevere's heart raced at those words and she hardly believed that she was bold enough to say that. Her face flushed as she watched Lancelot slide gracefully onto the cart. His horse kept walking beside them, glancing over at his master from time to time.

As Lancelot settled into his seat, he pondered about his feelings for the girl next to him. True, he had wanted to catch her alone for some time now, but he had always been a bit afraid to do so. He had never felt that feeling before. Lancelot had always lived by spontaneity for he never had time to think. He was too busy for that.

Guinevere peered over the side of the cart and felt her breath escape her. The meadow was gone and now there was nothing…just a road and beyond that, air. Her face, that was red moments ago, turned a deathly pale. She hated to admit that she was afraid of heights, but she was.

Guinevere suddenly turned and buried her face in Lancelot's chest, trying to block out the sight of rocks and air. Lancelot could tell by the look in her eyes that fear was something foreign to her. He was too surprised to think of what he was allowed to do, but willed his arms to encircle her and hold her tight. Lancelot loved the fact that she would try to be closer to him and he protectively held his arm around her for the rest of the long journey until they reached a suitable campsite.