Three

The group had been riding for less than two hours. Tristan's horse began to lead the way, as if it knew where it was going. When one of the Roman soldiers gave Tristan a backward glance, though, he dropped back behind them. it was also at this time that it came to Tristan's attention that there were other boys riding with them. He hadn't noticed them earlier, probably because there were only a few. But, how many others had been taken before for training? He didn't look over straight away at the other boys, until they began to stare at him first. Then, one of them rode up beside him. Tristan looked at him from the corner of his eye. He looked about the same age as Tristan, but perhaps a year older. He was a rather lean young man, wide-shouldered, and had very strong facial features.

"Don't worry, it'll get better," the other young man spoke.

"What?" Tristan asked

The other young man looked straight ahead.

"It is hard at first to leave your home, but after awhile, it all seems like a distant memory," he replied. "It will get easier."

"I do not fear what lies ahead," Tristan said, eyeing him up. "What's your excuse?"

The other chuckled , dropping his head slightly. "That's what they all say. It's what I probably said, too. Something to that nature anyway."

"How long have you been out here?" Tristan asked thoughtfully.

The older boy shifted easily in his saddle. "Me? Many months I have been traveling with these men and boys to go to my post, wherever that may be. But, I was the second they picked up. The first was Gawain over there."

Tristan peered over at the other young men and boys that wearily rode their horses. At that moment, the young man extended his hand to Tristan. Tristan just looked at him as if he were offering him poison, and did move to shake his hand at first.

"My name's Dagonet, and I assure you, it's just a hand," Dagonet said.

Tristan raised his eyebrow, and then quickly shook Dagonet hand. "Tristan."

"Well, Tristan, if you ever need anything, or perhaps just a friend to talk to, you know where to find me," Dagonet said, riding back over by the other boys.

Tristan watched Dagonet until he met the others. He sneered under his breath at Dagonet's comment. A friend? Who needed a friend? Tristan had been alone since the day of his conception, and every day thereafter. He had not known anything different, except for Elanesa for a brief time. She was a good woman. She was a faithful friend and he knew that she would someday take flight to another town and make a good man's happy wife. In Tristan's opinion, friends were figments of mortal imaginations. You have friends and you lose them, or they lose you. If all is lost when you have friends, then why have them at all?

The day's slow beginning came to a rapid end as the sun nestled down into the arm's of the Earth. Tristan had never ridden much before, so he thought he should faint from exhaustion before the soldiers finally allowed them to make camp for the night. They had traveled many miles in this first day. Somehow, Tristan felt that tomarrow would be an even longer day. He didn't know where exactly they were going, or how long it would take, but Tristan didn't care enough to ask. At least he knew where he was. They were still on the plains that were sparcely surrounded by small patches of woods.

The group had made their camp in the covern of the woods. The Roman soldiers stayed on the firmer soils while the young men were exiled to the outskirts of the forested area around their own pathetically small campfire. At least the Roman soldiers had been decent enough to offer everyone food and water. Tristan ate small bites of his dried meat, as he lay on his side on the far side of the fire. He watched as the others eagerly gulped down their meal.

The smallest boy in the group, only 12 or 13, lay back on the ground. "Ah...I am so glad we finally got to rest. I couldn't stand one more hour on that horse!"

"Me either, but remember, Galahad, that horse is saving you from having to walk!" another boy, a couple years older, replied. His long, curly hair draped over his shoulder slightly as he bent down on his left arm.

"Complain, complain, that's all I ever hear from you girls!" the chubbier of the boys called out, taking a swig of his drink.

"Back off, Bors, at least your fat arse gives you some cushioning when you ride!" the boy called Gawain answered. "Galahad's skinny butt is worn out by time he mounts his damned horse."

The boys all chuckled slightly, nestling in their sleeping spots and gazing inward at the blazing fire. Tristan was curious by then at their peculiar personality traits, and continued to listen silenty.

Yawning, Galahad asked, "So, where do you think we are headed tomarrow?"

"I heard one of the soldiers talking about something; He said we have to go further north to these farming type towns to pick up last recruits. Then, we're supposed to be heading to our posts," Dagonet replied, poking at the fire with a stick.

Galahad propped his chin up upon his arms and stared at the others. "What do you think will happen then? Do you think we'll be separated?"

"Why, Galahad, are you scared?" Bors teased him.

"Well...yes, aren't you?" Galahad replied honestly.

"Me? Ha!" was Bors' reply.

"Leave him alone, Bors," Gawain whispered, his eyes half-closed. "Don't worry, Galahad, everything will turn out fine, you'll see."

Laying down completely, Galahad sighed. His big eyes watched the emerging stars of the night sky. "Promise?"

"Of course. We're all brothers now, aren't we?" Gawain said.

Then, there was silence among all the boys. They had drifted off to sleep almost instantly. Tristan swallowed the last of his meat and leaned back against a tree. He was intrigued by these other boys. They were not what he had expected at all. They had known each other for such a short period of time, but they had grown beyonf friends. They were, as Gawain had mentioned, brothers. This thought dwelled in Tristan's mind, as he watched the dancing flames of the fire and fell asleep.

Tristan eye's shot open and peered around the perimeter. He saw that the fire had since died down to mere embers, and that everyone, including the soldiers at the far side of the encampment, were fast asleep. He stayed completely still, his soft breathing blending into the silence of the night. Suddenly, his sharp sense of hearing led him to hear a small rustle among the tree branches behind him. Tristan lept to his feet and turned to face the tree, his hand near his small dagger at his side. A rustle came again, but this time it was accompanied by a small squawking noise.

Tristan blinked and stood stupidly there for a moment. He walked forward, and bent down near the brush under the tree. Taking his small dagger, he carefully cut through some tangled branches until he came to the bottom of the pile. Inside, still tangled in the leaves and branches, was a baby hawk. Sqawking lowly, the bird tried to free itself, but Tristan could tell that it's right wing was broken. He resheathed his dagger at his side and carefully took up the hawk from its prison. The hawk tried to bite his hand, but Tristan quickly moved it before it had the chance.

"Bite me, and I'll bite you back, you hear?" Tristan said calmly to the bird, stroking its ruffled feathers.

Taking a couple of short twigs, Tristan made a sling for the hawk's wing. He guessed the hawk fell trying to fly from its nest. He knew the hawk would be alone to die if he left it where he found it.

The hawk cooed as Tristan scratched under its chin. He checked the sex of the bird; it was a female. Sitting down again against the tree, Tristan set the hawk upon his forearm and leaned back to sleep.

"Good-night, Iliana," Tristan said. "You will be my one true friend. Good-night."

End 'Three.'