A new story!! I am working on the others but my mind is so indecisive! :) Once again I update only if people review!

Wildheart

The place was as terrible as Death – nothing survived and nothing lingered.

No breath of wind would assure her mind that life still had the strength to remain. Carnage swarmed around her like a noose.

These dreams rushed through her body like horses. She had to escape, run – hide – anything!

Anything to escape … him. Anything.

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The camp had settled from travelling from Marius's estate and Lancelot eyed the woods longingly. His stomach was screaming for food, and he wished to be alone and hunt a wholesome deer or rabbit.

But he also needed to think.

Casting the camp a look, he got his bow and walked into the woods.

The atmosphere was quiet and ethearel – as if the frost had frozen time itself. The only noise were his feet, crunching upon the young snow.

Until he heard a noise, that did not belong to him or any other animal. It sounded human. He glanced to the side, and saw a black mass moving ahead. It was a person. He clenched his hand on his bow, and Lancelot hid behind a tree.

I'm being followed, he thought grumpily, leaning his head wearily against the trunk, do Marius' soldiers ever give up? He risked a peek and saw a hunched figure limp slowly through the snow. He leant forwards and detected they were no soldier - their figure was slighter. However as he put his bow down, he stumbled and fell in sight of the person. They stopped.

For a few seconds they simply stared at him, till they unsheathed a dagger from a leather belt. Moonlight fell on their face and Lancelot blinked: it was a woman.

Without thinking, he walked slowly towards her and raised his arms to show he was unarmed. As he came closer, her regarded the woman's apparence: she had long honey hair that streamed down her back and she gazed reproachfully at him through a set of deep brown eyes, that stood out like pin-pricks on her pale face. Her clothes were poor: a thin brown cloak covered her back and threadbare tunic was held together with a thick belt, where a small scabbard was hung.

Lancelot felt no danger, but before he coudl speak, the woman gave a gasp of pain. Before she hit the floor, Lancelot rushed forth and steadied her. But she flinched at his touch, and accidentally cut his arm with the dagger in her hand.

Stunned for a moment, both Lancelot and the girl surveyed the deep cut; blood seeped into his armour, and stained the snow crimson. He merely shrugged and helped her up. But in doing so, he noticed strange bandages wound on her legs and beneath her chest.

Gods! he thought, faintly startled. But he caught her glance and looked away.

"I can help you if you come with me" Lancelot nodded to the trees ahead where the camp was set.

The woman did not repl. She squinted up at him.

"You will die out here." He said to her.

"How do you know I will not die with you?" she rasped, eyes gleaming with mistrust.

Lancelot sighed. "I mean you no harm, girl" he said delicately. "You're hurt. I am at a camp ahead and there you will be safe. Do you trust me?"

"Either I die out here or go with you ..." the girl mumbled.

Reluctantly, she let him lead her to this camp where there was food and water.

The arrival came as Lancelot predicted, full of surprised and shocked faces as he dragged her limp form through the comfortable camp. He gained suspicious looks from the refugees and from his fellow knights.

"An who is this?"

Bors dismounted his horse and strode over to Lancelot and the girl, frowning. He looked at her suspicously but his hard complexion softened as she gazed sadly back at him with her strong brown eyes and white face.

"I do not know, Bors" said Lancelot heavily. "But she is injured and needs help. Where is Arthur?"

Bors rolled his eyes.

"Prayin'" he said resentfully, "he's in the tent with Dag-"

"No I'm not, I'm here. What is going on?"

Arthur appeared like a ghost behind Bors and he turned round quickly.

"Oh …" he said disjointedly "Well … Lancelot 'ere has come back with a … pick me up."

Lancelot frowned. "No," he said, glaring at Bors' insensitivity. "This girl is injured, I found her in the woods," his voice became more urgent as he felt the weight of the girl grow stronger on his body, "she is weak .... and not an ambush I made sure of that."

"She looks like a Saxon," muttered Bors suspiciously, "with that hair. Looks like wheat."

"Please, Arthur," said Lancelot, ignoring Bors, "we need to help her."

Arthur looked sadly at the girl's sagging figure and nodded, he strode over and helped her other arm and they both walked her to the medical tent.

As Arthur lay her down the girl, she looked apologetically at Lancelot and then at his cut arm. She shakily touched it and said hoarsely, "sorry." She smiled weakly at him and he returned it faintly. But then, her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed.

"Don't worry," said Arthur to Lancelot who gazed at her with a flicker of worry, "she's just resting, she'll come round. Dagonet will see to her."

Lancelot nodded, and with a last nod, turned on his heel and sat beside an abandoned fire.