Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! You're all nice, awesome people! Sorry for the late update—my laptop DIED died. It was really sad, because I love my laptop. I just sat there thinking, "What did I do without my laptop and internet before? I remember those days, barely, but I can't remember what I used to do… I guess I was like, productive and stuff. HAHAHAHA… oh mind, stop making things up- that never happened… " Then I got really confused. Then I got my computer back! And I was happy!

And why yes, I did choose these names just so people's minds could stumble over them and think, "… how do you pronounce this…" And because they were in the "really old English names" webpage I found.

DISCLAIMER: Everything I said before…

*Setting up the storyline…

Chapter 2

Elsewhere in Camelot—somewhere deep in the woods that everyone's scared of and dies in…

"The first memory I have is of this hill…" Beroun thought to himself as they approached it. Beroun did not care about going into hiding, or about being hated by "ordinary" people. He knew no ordinary people. Everyone and everything he ever cared about was beside him still. Part of him didn't understand what the big deal was. Camelot hated magic. The Druids embraced it. If that was Camelot's choice, let them be a separate people. Why lurk around in the shadows? Why did so many strangers that his own people feed and shelter for the night end up making war against Uther? There were other lands besides Camelot—if you weren't welcomed, leave! But Beroun was around Arthur's age—he was too young to have sentimental value towards Camelot. He did not know the people who died in the Great Purge. It was not his children that had been drowned. He couldn't remember what life had been like before exile. To him, these woods had been his home. If magic were to ever return to the kingdom, he probably wouldn't even choose to live in the city. Nothing would change for him. Fear of knights and nobility or even a village commoner would be replaced by new threats soon enough. Whether they were knights of Camelot or common bandits, when collecting firewood, he would still have to watch his back. At first, Uther had been satisfied with just driving those with magic outside of the city and outlying villages. "If they chose to go against the decrees of Camelot, let them live like outlaws," Uther had said. That didn't satisfy his hatred for long. This evil breed had to be wiped off the face of the earth. The sorcerers and Druids and all that refused to take part in Uther's hatred were scattered once again, fleeing deeper into the woods for sanctuary. Beroun had been three years old. That was the first time he saw this hill.

Majesty. That's the only word that describes it. Like a really old fortress built to defend just principles, enshrined in the years, but frozen in time. The feeling gave a sense of old magic from the earth itself. Those without "the gift" felt eerie in its presence, but to those who refused to be blinded by hatred—to those who would see life for what it could be, it was the definition of magic and hope. This hill was their protector. Many times over the years Beroun's people had been pursued by Uther. Many times they had retreated into the woods. A mixture of elevation, vantage point, and enchantment had kept them from being detected on this hill.

The first rule of hiding—never stay in one place too long. Eventually, you'll be found. If they wished to continue to use this hill as an advantage, they couldn't live there. It had to be saved for special occasions. Like now.

"Ironic," thought Beroun. "My entire life I had been taught to fear Uther, though to him I had never lost a single friend. Now I and my family will meet our end, by the hands of a creature with magic…"

He looked around at his company. Their faces were worn and tired. It would be so easy to give up and let life go back to normal. Even as this thought entered into his mind, he dismissed it. He could not turn his back on anyone who needed his help. That's not the kind of people the Druids were. He himself had magic, as did his little sister, and many other Druid adults and children. Not as powerful as the sorceress Eabae, but still. If it were his little sister who had come to strangers for help, he would hope someone would be kind to her plight. There was a magical creature in these woods that was attracted to magic, and fed off of those who possessed it. With each feeding the monster became more powerful and dreadful. It had found Eabae because of her skill, but even Eabae in all her power couldn't defeat it. She had found Beroun's people while fleeing, and the creature had found them in its pursuit. Eabae did what she could to protect the people, being among the wounded in the process, and they had managed to escape, however barely. He owed Eabae. She didn't have to help his people. She could have used the distraction of the creature to make her own escape, but she had fought for them. And now she needed them. 5 people had died that day. Beroun started making his ascend up the hill's steep. "Let's hope this hill will save us one more time…"