Shallow as Dreams Are
They had no land of their own, no safety, very little protection from bandits or the armies that roamed around, killing magic users and mundane alike. There was nowhere they could claim to belong, but among the trees and the dirt, the leaves and wells, the birds and flowers, in the midst of nature, wherever it was.
They lived in fear. Fear of war, fear of persecution – of course – but not only that: fear of the diseases they could no longer cure, fear of famine that was ever near, fear to be enslaved and abused for the powers, because of their powers.
Life was hard, but they never allowed it to rule them – they had hope – an fresh, strong light that burned bright from inside Camelot's walls, where Emrys was working, preparing the world of man to true balance – to true equality. They knew all their hardships were just the dusk that preceded a new, glorious day.
(But the day never came, and shadows engulfed them all, dark and foreboding a long night, the prelude of a world that had no place for their kind)