They stopped for the night at the base of a hill, keeping the fire to a minimum to avoid being detected by the woads. The less garrison at the wall, the bolder they became. Tristan's eyes were set on the girl as she helped build a fire, and settled herself in a corner. As per Arthur's command, the scout watched for inside threats, as well as woads and animals. The witch should not be taken lightly. Already, his brothers had warmed up to her in an unnatural fashion. But she would not enthrall him so easily. Her eyes and manners though, seemed genuine. Still, he wouldn't relent; it probably was part of the bewitching. Now, even Arthur was smiling down at her as she handed him a bowl of Gawain's stew.

Eventually, the young lady excused herself, claiming the call of nature. Arthur's eyes caught his, earning a nod of his head. 'Watch her, and keep her safe,' was his silent command. As the witch found refuge in a few trees not far from their encampment, Tristan followed, a shadow amongst shadows. Very soon, he couldn't even spot her. He had to grant this; she was stealthy for a lady. Yet no one outmarched him. Standing still in a clearing, he waited, until the slight shuffle of leaves indicated her position. A silhouette passed between the silver bark of the trees, her reddish hair painted in lighter hues from the moonlight. Tristan approached, his daggers clutched tightly. Witch or fairy? He had not decided yet. Albeit he had conveyed his doubts to Arthur, the scout had refrained from speaking about the blueish light. To this moment, he was still unsure of his reasons for concealing such an important information.

The young woman spread her arms wide, turning slightly around, as if feeling the land under her feet, and inhaling the forest. Tristan blinked, mesmerised by her silent dance. Her moves were graceful, her eyes closed in a prayer. Was she, like him, more at ease in nature than between walls? A sudden shiver caught him, and Tristan emerged from his trance. That was it, she was bewitching him also! In a fit of rage, the scout burst forth. The witch spun at the last moment. Too late. His arm rushed, fingers sneaking around her throat as he pinned her violently to the bark of an oak. Her fist hit him in the stomach, then a knee. She was fast, but not strong enough to deter him, especially with his armour on. Tristan grunted, and set his blade on the white skin of her smooth throat.

Eyes wide open, she stared at him in fear. And then, recognition dawned on her, and she slightly relaxed in his grip. Tristan scoffed at the trust she put in him. As if she was safer with him holding a blade on her throat than with a woad!

— "Tell me witch", he growled. "What will you do now?"

Frances swallowed cautiously, and the scout slowly released the pressure of his blade so that she could answer. Her throat was sore, he'd nearly crushed her windpipe and she struggled not to cough.

— "I am no witch"

His answer was a grunt, eyes shining under the moonlight, lighter than they seemed during the day as he hid them under the fringe of messy hair. The predatory glance, though, was enough to tell her that she was at his mercy.

— "I have seen your coming. I have seen the ball of blue light. Is it woads' magic?"

So he knew of the necklace's magic. Well, then, from the inquisitive looks he gave her, Frances knew she would not be able to lie. Never before had she encountered such an intense gaze. It was as if he could see right through her. It was unnerving … and slightly soothing; she didn't have to hide anymore. Her hand came to rest upon the one that held her pinned, finding support in the coiled fingers to adjust her stance upon the bark that dug in her back. The scout tensed, yet didn't chase her away when he realized she wasn't trying to gain the upper hand. The warmth she found at his contact slightly unnerved her, and Frances swallowed before answering.

— "I do not wield this magic, nor am I its master. I was sent there to aid you."

— "To aid us?"

The scout's face revealed nothing, his grip as painful as ever. If she reared up now, she had no doubt he'd slice her throat in an instant. Panic rose, overwhelming her senses, and Frances pushed it down by studying the strange colour of his eyes at night. She didn't know why but, even as he threatened her life and her heart hammered in her chest, she found his eyes to be fascinating. A window to his tortured soul. And God, there was so much pain, so much regret in their depth.

— "Yes. Your knights, Arthur, and you"

This time, his feature hardened.

— "Me"

She couldn't possibly tell him that the first person to stumble upon her usually was the one she was supposed to help. In her heart, though, she knew it to be true. Tristan needed solace more than anyone in this merry company.

— "Yes. You are the first person I met on arrival. I will fight for you"

His voice slightly raised, just above a whisper as he chastised her.

— "Foolish girl! We do not need you"

His anger only managed to rile her up, and despite the fact that he could slice her throat on a heartbeat, her respond flung back without remorse.

— "Apparently, you do. Or I wouldn't have been sent here in the first place!"

— "Who sent you?"

She had to give him some credit, the man knew how to conduct an interrogation. And his gaze pinned her to the tree as efficiently as his blade. There was no escaping the truth such was his magnetic presence.

— "The Valar, my gods. Albeit I suspect them of having agreements with other deities… Anyway. They send me to ensure that events unfold the way they are supposed to."

— "Your ramblings make no sense, woman!"

This time, Frances huffed loudly. She'd had enough. Fortunately, the man had the reflex to drive his blade a little further from her throat lest she killed herself.

— "Damn it, you stubborn scout! Can you not just trust me?"

— "For fifteen years I have protected my brothers… no, I cannot"

The woman sent her arms to the sky in a silent plea, and he removed his blade altogether. He'd overpower her easily if need be, and didn't want to tell Arthur he had bled her like a cow.

— "I'd bash your thick head on the bark of the tree if I could!"

Tristan blinked, surprised by the colourful insult. No one at the fort, not even his brothers had the guts to give him a tongue lashing. People stayed clear from his path, fearing him like the plague… but the young lady here, she couldn't know of his reputation until she saw him hack at his enemies. She'd learn soon enough to avoid him. Until then… until then he would enjoy invoking her wrath, for it felt good, for once, to be treated like a human being. Vanora only dared sending him glares, and even the mighty redhead refrained from unleashing her tongue at him. Needless to say that Tristan enjoyed the challenge in a twisted way. And her exasperation felt so genuine. Despite the fact that she fed him the craziest story ever, no lies dwelt in her eyes. She told him the truth, her truth. Had he not seen the blue light, he'd have dubbed her absolutely demented. Yet, something nagged at the back of his mind. Her mannerism, her genuine smiles, her way of speech. She was different. Perhaps then, it was the world that had gone crazy, and she truly was from another place?

A piercing cry called his attention to the sky in surprise, and the young lady followed his gaze. Out of habit, Tristan extended his hand in the air to welcome his Hawk. The bird passed his face in a flurry of wings, and landed on his glove. Frances let out a muffled cry, biting her lip to refrain from making more noise. The scout scratched the dark feathers of the bird lightly in welcome and then something incredible happened. The hawk hopped aside once, twice, and, instead of taking off again, it landed on the lady's shoulder. Tristan watched her as she repressed her scream, his surprise barely hidden on his face. The scout didn't make a sound, his golden eyes set on the hawk as its claws dug into her shoulder piece, creating two set of holes in the patterned leather. He didn't miss either the way her chest heaved up and down before her posture relaxed. She had a tight control over her emotions.

Frances contemplated the bird from the corner of her eye, its shiny feathers basked in the moonlight. Albeit its beak could pierce her eyes, she felt strangely comfortable with its weight on her shoulder.

— "Hello there. You … you are splendid."

The bird was still like a statue until Frances dared lifting her hand and brushing its lovely feathers under Tristan's stunned stare. The hawk always nibbled at the other knight's fingers when they approached her, but she did nothing of the sort with Frances. Perhaps that she was a shaman.

The feathers were soft under Frances' skin, and the young woman caressed the bird for a long time before it started fidgeting. Then, the hawk started chirping at its master, as if telling him off for being so rude. When at last it took off again, Tristan's mind was made up. She was no witch, but a fairy. His hawk had told her so. Turning to the young woman, he eyed her once more.

— "Do what you have to do. I'll not stand in your way."

— "Thank you, Tristan"

It had been a long time since a feminine voice had uttered his name, let alone thanked him with the heart, and it strangely soothed his soul. The scout gave her a levelled gaze, his mask slipping back into place.

— "Don't thank me. This world is not made for women. You'll be broken soon enough."

And then he huffed and walked away. Before disappearing, though, he called to her.

— "Don't stay there, it's dangerous."