Disclaimer: The usual

Thank you again for all the reviews and emails in support of this storyline!

Chapter 2: Memories surface

A small party of Woads had been spotted moving southeast of the Wall. This made the scout very uneasy to know they were south of the Wall, again. He had been tracking them for a few days now. His journey took him farther and farther away from the fort near Baden Hill. Three days journey beyond the fort, it seemed they were purposely drawing him away.

What were they up to? The scout thought to himself as he cautiously rode through the thick foliage of the forest. These people who had become my enemy?

What was their plan of action? He wondered as his eyes skillfully watched for any sign of their whereabouts.

He was too far away to be alone. His instincts told him that this was not a good idea. He made the decision to head back and get the other knights. There were only seventeen of them left out of the thirty five that had first been brought from Sarmatia those eleven years ago.

The woods were thick with green foliage. The air filled with scents of moist green moss and rotting damp underbrush. The only sound to be heard was the heavy breathing that Aron made as she trodden the earth beneath her hooves He looked up then around as he marveled at the canopy of trees. Tristan could see the new buds about to blossom. Spring was near, winter was ending. This was the time in the forest he relished the most. New life could be found everywhere. Somehow, in its small way, nature could make his existence semi tolerable. It somehow brought a glimmer of hope that this hell he was in just might actually end one day. He could then have some sort of a life resembling normality.

Normal? He thought to himself. What was that?

He had been in this life far too long to really remember what that meant. This life was becoming too normal to him. He wondered would he ever be able to adjust to a different way of life. If he survived that is to see his freedom. It grew harder to remember his life in his homeland with the passing of each battle or the taking of each life.

xxxxxx

Those memories of when he was free (when he was young) were becoming too faded in his mind. He kept them buried deep for protection. When he did remember those times he remembered hunting with his father as a boy. Deep in the north woods of where they traveled they would hunt for days, just the two of them. He could vaguely remember the smells that would come from their tent as his mother prepared meals. He remembered her smile. He could catch a glimpse in his mind of how soft and gentle it always seemed to him.

Their life in Sarmatia was hard but he never minded. His clan, like so many others was nomadic, traveling always from place to place. There were times when he was alone, all was still in his bed, and if he closed his eyes tightly and blocked the world out he could actually hear the faint sounds of his younger brother and two sisters as they played. Those were his fondest memories. Those were the ones he tried to bury most. They weakened his armor, that which protected who he had to become to survive. People had come to fear him with his void feelings and solemn facial expressions. He was always hiding his glare behind his misshaped hair. It was like a shear curtain from which he could pear out while watching people without being detected.

Normality for him these days had become death, the stench of it. Would he ever be free of the smell of death, the memories of pain, or the blood that stained his hands? Could he ever be free of the memories that burned forever in his mind? He wondered could he ever let love in his life. Would he ever have a family of his own? At this thought his chest tightened, his jaws clinched hard against his teeth as he scolded himself for allowing thoughts such as these to enter into his mind. No, he would never be free, never know love and never have a family. It was not meant for his life. He was a warrior and that is all he would ever be. He would die in battle on this island he was prisoner to.

He came to a clearing in the woods and decided this was as good a place as any to make camp and sleep for awhile. He unsaddled Aron and rubbed her down. He could hear his stomach give a loud churning sound and realized he hadn't eaten in a day. He went for a hunt, something that always relaxed him. It was the challenge and the intrigue that he enjoined about hunting. It was a game in sorts in which you had to use your wits and cunning. He spotted a stag and thought he could easily kill it, but the waste of the meat he could not justify. Soon he came across a rabbit-with the swift shot of his arrow the rabbit was his. He made his way back to his camp and built a fire. After his belly was full and he was warm he settled in for the night. His head rested on his saddle while his cloak made for a warm blanket.

His thoughts got the better of him again so there went any chance of his rest. He lay there staring at the stars. He thought of the news of Morlang's return. The fort and nearby village was all a buzz with it. Word had gotten to Moira's brother William of their return. William, a blacksmith by trade, had been keeping up with the house as well as the horses. His eldest son, Peter, had been staying there tending to things.

That was two months past that the word came. Anytime now they would arrive, Morlang, his wife along with their children. All of them, including Lorna. He took in a deep breath then exhaled. Reaching under his armor, then tunic and finally inside his shirt he placed his hand on the rabbit's tail she had given him nearly four years prior. Holding it in the palm of his hand he rubbed his thumb against it. It was soft and he liked the feel of it.

Closing his eyes he let out another deep breath. He felt utterly conflicted at times. When he was at the fort with the other knights, scouting or even in the fires of battle he knew what his purpose was. He was clear on what needed to be done. There was never any doubt in his mind. Then there were those other times that seemed to plaque him more often these days. Those times, when in his solitude, his soul longed for something other than what he had become.

Damn whip of a girl. He thought to himself.

Then he thought again, about what she had whispered to him. She wouldn't be a girl when she returned. She had said that hadn't she? He thought of what she would look like now.

He remembered how he was but 15 when he first arrived at the fort, tall with a slim lanky build. His hair shoulder length and wild. In four years time he had filled out, becoming more muscular. His hair still looked as wild as ever, as though he never taken a brush to it.

How much would she have changed in four years time? Had she found a mate while she was there? Had she forgotten him? He wouldn't have blamed her if she had. What had he to offer her anyway, nothing but the surety that he would find death in battle?

Releasing the rabbit's foot as well as his hand from his clothing he flipped on his right side. Letting out a heavy snort he closed his eyes and tried to find the peace that some sleep might bring him. Instead he dreamt of her.