In this chapter I kind of bounce back and forth between solely speaking about Torne, into a little bit of their mother, then with Galahad. It still makes sense though, or at least I hope it does. Just kind of wanted to add an extra element that's different from the first two chapters.

There was an unsettling feeling over the village as a lone horsemen approached. A young scout had spotted the armor clad man coming there way and rode as fast as he could back to spread the word. Torne had been one of the first to hear of this, and it didn't take long for her to rush to the far east hill where several others had gathered as well. The time had come, and their clan didn't disappoint. Electricity tingled amongst the gathering crowd. Hushed whispers turned into cheers as their long lost hero had returned to them at last.

"I wonder what stories there'll be 'round the fire," a man pondered loudly.

"Aye, he looks lean and young…fine lad," a mother agreed with her daughter. The horsemen stopped a few yards off, almost weary of them. It had been fifteen years, and now he thought them strangers? The thought was almost too painful.

"Come, brother! Come say hello to your sister!" Torne hurried forward at least. Her arms were outstretched towards the rider as her eyes studied his face. Dark brown hair curled down over his forehead, the same hair she would teasingly braid. Hair now grew upon his face as well, the boy that left had come back a man. Could it truly be? Lancelot back from service and not at all the lad that left them. Torne felt an immense amount of pride swell in her chest. He had done them all proud, and all he had to do was come back alive.

"Unless your eye color has changed, son, you're not Lancelot," her father finally spoke for the first time since they had gathered. Only then did Torne notice the crystal blue eyes of the stranger. Lancelot's eyes had been dark like her own; like their father's.

"Who are you then stranger?" Torne asked, an unknown feeling of dread rising up. It came off as anger and anxiety as she stared wide eyed up at him. For some reason the man seemed to only hear her father, most likely caught off guard by how well an old man such as he could remember such a small detail.

"Yes…you're correct…" Torne took note of how his eyes couldn't rest on any of the villagers. He was nervous, but of what? Did a band of nomads looks so threatening to a man that had seen Rome and it's evil?

"You comin' in my son's stead only means one thing. He is not comin' back," Torne had always known her father to be strong, and in his later years wise, but she wasn't sure if she liked him for being so at the moment. Torne bowed her head in disbelief, already sensing what words would come next," Tell me, soldier, does he stay by choice or does he stay 'cause there's a grave with his sword in it?"

"Pa…" Torne forced down a lump in her throat. She felt someone's hand on the small of her back, but comfort wasn't what she needed.

"Torne, please don't cry…" her mother whispered, working soothing circles with her hand.

"I am Galahad," the soldier said. So the face finally had a name to go with it," I fought with Lancelot for many years in many battles," He took time only to gulp back some sort of sorrow," He was one of the noblest men I've ever known, and it-" They were words that were heard by deaf ears. Patting around the bush wasn't going to make the news any less heavy than it already was. Torne could already feel which road this traveling stranger was taking, and in a way, she was annoyed because of it.

"Just say it!" she yelled, cutting him off," Spit it out!" Her father laid a strong hand on her shoulder. She wasn't sure if the gesture was meant to calm her or remind Torne to be silent," I figure that we're a strong enough people," everyone around her fell silent. What could they say to keep her in line? Each of them wanted to know the exact thing. Would their hero not return to them after all?

"Yes…Lancelot fell in our last battle against the Saxons. He died bravely," Galahad stared down at his hands and allowed the news to settle in. He hadn't expected a mission that didn't involve any sort of fighting could be so hard. Arthur had come to him with the request. He had said that he had a certain amount of sympathy that the other men didn't possess, and that would make this task fairly simple for him. Had he have known this was how Lancelot's people would receive him he would have stayed behind. Galahad hadn't however. He wanted to make a sort of peace with his past. Give his farewells to his lost companions and move on in his life, this being his stepping stone.

"Well then… he is one of us. Bravery is not in somethin' we scarce on," Her father was already turning to the fire," We're not short on manners either…come Galahad. Entertain us with your stories then," Torne watched him dismount with narrowed eyes. The messenger most certainly shouldn't be shot because of his message, but then again, revenge was a funny matter that tended to break the laws of man.

"Let mi son take care of yer horse," a man offered, and kindly took the reigns from Galahad.

"Thank you," Torne watched as everyone flocked around him, not with the excitement as they would have with Lancelot, but with a certain amount of reverence and hospitality. No one cried, not even her mother. Maybe it was the fact that they had forgotten him? That his younger years didn't balance out these fifteen or so years. Lancelot was not a stranger, just long lost. Torne bit back her tears as she realized this.

"Torne…we'll miss him," her mother said," We'll neva know what would have been, but this is how everythin' is. Torne, soon you'll understand that this is how the gods work. Don't cry," She wished she could take those words to heart. She had always believed in what her mother had said, fore wisdom and maternal love were always useful. This time, Torne just could muster up any sort of feeling other then grief. Lancelot had made up her earliest childhood. He had been the friend and brother she needed; saving her from a stampede of horses once. Even after his departure Torne had thought about her elder brother. Shaped herself so that she could be strong minded like him. While many others could only remember certain memories of him, Torne's childhood contained him all over it. And now it was suppose to mean nothing? A false path that the gods had set her on? If there had ever been a path…

"Torne! Come honor our guest with your presence!" A majority of the village were making themselves comfortable around what would be the fire. Galahad was respectfully seated on a log facing the last of the sun's rays so that on lookers would see he face till the very last of the sun had disappeared. It had been a superstition of their tribe since the beginning, she was sure of it. With a reluctant stride, she made her way over to sit next to Saamik and her children, the furthest she could position herself away from the stranger.

"I don't think I should be giving stories…I really should be heading out," Galahad looked up and saw the blonde haired woman close her eyes and a tear streak down her cheek. A healing process for all of them.

"Mi understand…maybe we shoul' comfort ya with our stories of Lancelot. Would ya prefer t'at over ones of battle?" Or he could leave. Torne wanted nothing more then for the bearer of bad news to ride off and never return. Especially now, since he wouldn't be kind enough to share. Her father was too kind. Almost too much sometimes.

Of course the soldier wouldn't speak of his time with Lancelot. The reasons either being because he deemed the village too stupid to understand the art of battle or he really didn't know her brother. Biting the inside of her cheek, she suppressed the urge to yell at her father as she watched the two men embrace briefly and her father gesture towards her parents hut. So they were offering the bearer of bad news room and board. She worked her whole life to earn shelter and food, this stranger came along and the village welcomed him like a king. Sitting at his feet, offering their homes for him to rest for a journey home. What had he done for them? A village as small and vulnerable as them could afford to give out handouts to just anyone. Wild eyes rested on the young man named Galahad. He was no older then herself, but he had seen so much more of the world…had experienced with her now dead brother. A jealousy she didn't know she could possess welled up inside of her consciousness. If anything, this Galahad owed her more then she did to him. He was indebted to her for a brother's love and time. Something Torne would make sure he paid back.

Without a second's thought she turned away from the sight of her family and the newcomer. Her mind was set upon one and only one option. If it meant breaking away from all that she knew, then so be it. The grief and resentment that had entwined itself in her soul clouded the simplest of logic. The little girl who had held on to a promise was now a woman with a mission.