The sun blazed over the clearing, and brightness filtered through Cara's eyelids, drawing her awake. She groaned, sitting up; her hair was matted and soil clung to it. Her dress was covered in dirt, and her muscles were cramped and sore. She sat up slowly, rubbing her arms, pock marked and red from the rough ground she had been on. Her hands combed through her hair, flicking some dirt from it, and then she brushed her dress down. Her throat was raw; she needed to drink, they would reach Guilder soon, and she would find a well there. Cara shifted round, about to stand. She froze. She was alone in the clearing. He left, she thought, he left me! God damn stuck up… His horse is still here. Cara let her shoulders drop, standing. 'Arthur?' she called. 'Arthur!'
Cara heard something to her left; only a faint sound, but she followed it none the less. Tree branches whipped her arms as she passed thought them quietly. She emerged into a patch of greenery; creeping vines and leaves lined the floor. Arthur was on the other side of the green patch, hunched in a half crouch, hands held ready. He held his hunting knife in his right hand, looking at something on the ground. Suddenly he dived into the thick leaves, grunting with effort. A small grey blur raced away, its long ears pricked up with fear. Arthur cursed. Cara laughed, seeing the rabbit dart through the trees.
'Hey. It's not funny. Bloody rabbit heard you coming!' Arthur fumed, standing back up again.
Cara stopped laughing instantly, 'Sorry sire. I'll go see if I can find some food.' She muttered.
'Cara. Cara wait!' Arthur called after her, but she was already gone, blundering through the trees. Cara reached a track through the forest land, glancing around. She had found no food so far. There was a shuffling noise behind her. 'Arthur?' Another noise from her left, 'Arthur, this isn't funny.' She growled angrily. Another noise again from behind her; getting closer, 'Arthur?' her voice turned to almost silence, she could hear her blood pumping in her ears. There was a ring of steel, and suddenly something was pressed to her neck. She tried to scream, but a callused hand gripped her jaw closed. 'Awright my lovely!' a rough voice came, edged with viciousness, 'who you with then, Arthur?'
'He's my dog.' Cara lied, praying he would not hear it in her voice.
The man behind her snickered, 'Not safe out here for a young girl like you; not even with a dog. I hear there are bandits in these woods, why don't you let us look after you?' as he said this two more men emerged, one on her left, one circling round from behind her.
'I can take care of myself.' Cara muttered.
The man laughed again, 'You ain't from around 'ere are ya? Anyone from round here would know we own these woods. You're little campfire led us right to you my pretty. Now, seems as you're in my wood, and I own everything here, that you must belong to me now.' He chuckled maliciously, throwing her to the man on her left, 'Stick her in the cart, we'll sell her to Mercia.' The man said. Cara could see now he was a stocky man, dressed in brown trousers and jacket over a grey shirt. His boots were thick with mud, and the knife in his hand was coated in rust.
Cara felt the man behind her force her forward, marching down the road. They turned a corner in the track, facing a big brown cart with a cage on the back. The third man, a spindly young man with curled black hair, and a bright blue neckerchief threw open the cage door as the man behind her threw Cara inside. The door latched behind her.
The stocky man came to stand beside the cage, 'tie her up and cover it.' He ordered, hopping up onto the bench at the front to steer the horse. The second man, a barrel chested brute with dark hair all over his face, and a hat to cover the hair upon his head, cam over to her, wrenching her wrists through the bars before he lashed them together and tied them to one of the cage bars. Cara had little time to assess her situation before a huge black cloth was thrown over the cage, plunging her into darkness.
* * *
Arthur charged through the trees. He'd heard Cara calling to him. Had she fallen? Was she hurt? He reached the track, noticing fresh footprints in the soft earth. There was more than one set. One was light; Cara's, the others, perhaps two or three others were heavy. They all left in the same direction. Arthur followed the tracks, his hunting knife still in his hand; he cursed himself, remembering his sword was still attached to his horse's saddle. He prayed these people were friendly; perhaps traders or something, but if they were not, Cara was in big trouble.
Running down the track, Arthur saw where the tracks stopped, only to be replaced by new ones, wheel tracks. He would never catch the cart on foot, and these tracks led back towards Camelot, Mercia and Northumbria. Arthur ran back, his feet carrying him faster than they had before. He reached their camp quickly, jumping into his horse's saddle. He turned the animal around, racing back through the trees and along the track he and Cara had covered the previous evening. He would catch them at the cross roads. He had to catch them at the cross roads.
* * *
