(a/n: OMG! I am SO sorry this is so late. I was grounded from the computer for two weeks, and then I went on a small vacation with my family and never got a chance to go on the computer. Please forgive me! Ok, since schools starting tomorrow, and now I'm only allowed one hour on the computer each day, the story is gonna move on a little slower, but don't worry about me and Justice3 not finishing it- we will. The next chapter will probably up in a week or so, but don't be surprised if there are some delays. Thanks for hangin in there for us. Please review. Enjoy! -Modesty)
Chapter 5: A Premonition and More
Tristan's hawk soared gracefully through the sky, the cool breeze floating beneath its long russet wings. It screeched and flapped its wings elegantly. Very little snow fell from the sky and the hawk could see clearly in all directions around her, even in the darkness of night. She soared above the crisp white treetops and the snowy peaks of the mountainside.
Below her, she could also see the slightest movement of the whitest rabbit hopping above the snow. Her glazed black eyes darted across the land and her charming gaze fell upon an army of Saxons. She screeched a warning to them, sensing they would be trouble. She swooped down closer to them to get a better view. Most of them were clothed in thick furs and thick boots. They were highly armed, marching on into the darkness of war.
They were not far from Arthur's caravan, and they moved swiftly an entire mass of them, their numbers great and their leader, strong. The hawk flew above them, soaring through the sky with dignity and grace.
One soldier looked up at the hawk and smiled, knowing she soon would soon be home. Her story was on the verge of unfolding.
The moonlight stained the sky as the hawk gained in elevation and soared to higher heights, flying swiftly through the air back to her master.
Tristan galloped through the forest. He pulled back slightly on his horse's reins and slowed down to a steady trot. Passebreul flicked his ears back when he saw Tristan's hawk hovering overhead. Tristan saw her too, and he held out his arm to one side for her to land on. As she landed, she gripped his arm tightly with her sharp talons. Tristan urged his horse onward and they made their way through the forest at an even slower pace.
No sign of the Saxons, and Tristan had been riding for hours. It was his job as a scout to see how far behind they were. With one hand, he pulled his hair out of his face and then patted the side of Passebreul's damp neck. The bright stars were clustered above him.
Tristan walked his horse for another few minutes, cooling him off. With still no sign of the Saxons, he decided to turn around. His hawk screeched, gathering his attention to a small cliff overhanging a long valley beside the woods. He dug his heels into his horse's sides and Passebreul trotted onward towards it. Tristan dismounted and carefully walked to the edge of the cliff, leaning over to see what was below it. He could hear his horse breathing heavily behind him.
Several miles below him, Tristan spotted a sea of marching Saxons. He guessed there were approximately 200 hundred of them. His ears could barely catch the sound of distant drumming. "They're less than a day behind us," he whispered to his feathered companion.
His hawk then screeched and took flight. Tristan turned around, his senses alert. He slowly pulled out his throwing knife from his breastplate.
The air was still; the trees were still. Passebreul shifted his weight to one side and turned his head around to his right and pawed the ground in trepidation, his nostrils flaring and his eyes wide. Tristan noted his body language, which meant something was in the woods. Passebreul filled his lungs with air and exhaled deeply in a nervous sigh.
Tristan suspiciously eyed his surroundings, looking all around him for some sign of movement. The soft crunching of snow or the stroke of fingers on a crossbow would be an indication that Tristan wasn't alone in the woods.
His high-keyed senses on alert, Tristan could here the slight stretching sound of an arrow being stretched across a bow. Tristan's eyes darted to the direction of the sound far away in the trees.
A single arrow sailed through the air, stopping abruptly in Tristan's left arm. He winced in pain, but refused to allow it to distract him now. He ignored the throbbing pain in his shoulder as if it never was there at all.
A second arrow, then three more sailed towards him but he quickly stepped out of their paths, avoiding getting hit a second time. Four armed Saxon scouts leaped out from behind a cluster of trees quite a distance from Tristan.
Tristan gripped his knife tightly and breathed softly, concentrating at his target as he ran madly at him. The first Saxon yelled furiously as he ran, picking up speed. He held his empty crossbow in one hand and a long sword in the other. The other three also came charging towards Tristan, madly. Their swords were unsheathed and they were prepared to fight.
Tristan thrust his arm forward, letting go of his knife. It turned in circles in the air and sunk itself deep in the first Saxon's neck. He fell over, dead.
The three remaining Saxons finally reached him; Tristan's sword was at the ready. He studied his opponents for a moment, and they did the same. Tristan, gripping his sword tightly with one hand, caressed his fingers along the handle.
One Saxon rushed forward, holding his sword high above his head. Tristan thrust his sword into his stomach and quickly jerked it back, out of him. The second and third Saxons both attacked Tristan at once. One cut him across the arm; he faced this one and kicked his leg up, hitting him in the chest and knocking him down.
The other Saxon brought his sword down, almost hitting Tristan, but Tristan raised his sword to him, pulling out a second knife from his belt and jabbing into the man's belly.
The Saxon that had fallen, picked himself up, looked at his dead kin, and scowled angrily. He roared ferociously and attacked Tristan again, who quickly blocked the man's attempt to behead him, sticking his knife into his chest. The man stepped backward, the knife still in him. He dropped his sword and pulled the knife out of his chest, smiling menacingly. Tristan glared at him with hatred. The man was about to throw the knife at Tristan, when Tristan attacked, beheading the man instantly.
Tristan wiped the sticky sweat from his forehead and pushed the long dark hair out of his face, breathing heavily. He walked up to the nearest tree and leaned his body against it as he carefully pulled the arrow out of his throbbing arm. It certainly wasn't the worst wound he'd received in battle. He covered his arm back up with his sleeve and made his way through the four dead Saxons, pulling his knives out of two of them. He also picked up the first Saxon's crossbow to prove to Arthur how close their enemies were getting to them.
He put the arrow in a long pocket on his horse's saddle and mounted, holding the Saxon's bow with one hand and gripping the reins with the other. He clicked his tongue quietly and nudged Passebreul with his heels. The horse turned around under Tristan's command and they headed back for the caravan, miles ahead of them.
By the time he'd reached the caravan, the sun was up high in the sky. He could here some commotion as he entered the wakeful camp. Tristan wondered what was going on. He could see Arthur and the others. He saw Guinevere and Adima standing close together, Guinevere holding a bow and arrow.
Marius lay dead on the snowy ground, an arrow through his chest. Arthur was talking to two of Marius' guards that had seemingly failed their job.
"You have a choice," Arthur explained to them; Tristan noted the urgency in his voice. "You can help, or you can die," he threatened. Bors, atop his steed, kept the guards in place. The guards gave up their weapons, submitting to Arthur's rule.
"Arthur," Tristan trotted his horse forward, his need to peek with him urgent. "Saxon scouts," he said throwing the crossbow on the ground. "They're less than a day behind us."
Adima looked up at Tristan, noticing his sleeve was wet with blood. Her eyes shifted to Arthur, then to her sister to see if either of them had noticed too; they hadn't.
"How many did you kill?" Bors asked Tristan, smiling.
"Four," Tristan spoke with an even tone in his voice.
"Not a bad start to the day," Bors chuckled.
"Tristan, ride ahead; clear the path," Arthur instructed. "Come, we must keep moving."
Tristan saw Lucan holding Dagonet's hand, frightened. He kicked his horse forward and took a quick glance at Adima, meeting her gaze. Clearing the rest of the caravan, his trot quickened into a steady canter as he ran down the path the others were about to take, checking it for safety precautions.
A light cascade of snow poured from the sky. Adima watched two children playing around the small campfire made by Gawain and Galahad. The children's parents remained to be seen.
Gawain, Bors, Dagonet, Lucan, Adima, and Galahad all sat around the fire on tiny logs they'd found lying about in the woods. Gawain stood up and turned the thin stick laden with a small dead rabbit as it roasted in the flames of the fire.
"Looks like its almost done," he said sitting down.
"This won't be enough to feed everyone," Adima stated somewhat nervously. She looked to Gawain for an answer.
"That's why we've got another," Lancelot said as he and Guinevere appeared form the woods. Lancelot carried a larger dead rabbit by the ears. Guinevere smiled and stood next to her sister.
"Ahh, there you are," said Galahad. "I thought you two got lost somewhere," he grinned.
Guinevere put her hand on Adima's shoulder. "Where's Arthur?"
Lancelot's expression turned to that of jealousy when he heard Guinevere mention Arthur's name. Adima's eyes flicked form her sister to his and she noted the quick change in his expression. She ignored his transparent thoughts and turned her attention fully to her sister. "He's over there, somewhere," she said pointing to the main body of the camp. This was where all the wagons were parked and the serfs tried to sleep for the night, lying on thin blankets, if they had some.
"Thank you," Guinevere said, and she walked off towards the direction of which Adima was pointing. Adima turned her gaze back to Lancelot who was now sitting down near the warmth of the fire, the light of it reflecting off his hollow cheeks.
Adima sat quietly in the shadows of the tree behind her. Gawain picked at the blade of his axe with a sharp rock in order to sharpen it. She was deeply immersed in thought and her mind was too clouded to think of anything else. Her thoughts were focused on none other than Tristan.
It was getting late, and he still hadn't gotten back from scouting; at least not that she knew. Worry for him engulfed her. She pondered the idea that he had been attacked by Woads or perhaps Saxons and couldn't fight them due to his wounded arm. This paranoia of worried annoyed Adima, but the looming threat of Tristan hurt lingered freshly in her mind.
The joyous laughter of children broke her from her thoughts; strange, though nothing else did. She watched, a pleasant smile on her face, as the two children she had seen days before, played by the glowing light of the fire.
Each of them had a thin, long stick they were using to fight with, pretending them to be deadly weapons. The little girl, who was obviously a few years older than her little brother, jabbed him in the chest with the stick, knocking him over.
The little boy stared at her a moment, then picked himself up. In the back of her senses, Adima could here the knights emerged in conversation, but she paid most of her attention to the kids. Where were their parents? she thought. Why were they always alone?
The girl gripped her stick tightly, and caught her brother off guard by knocking the stick out of his hands. The boy stood there, not knowing what to do at first. His sister backed off and he reached for his sword.
Shivers ran down Adima's spine. A cool breeze floated past her. A horse whinnied in the distance. She turned around, but saw nothing. She looked around her at the knights. She appeared to be the only one disturbed by these occurrences. Something felt strange to her, but she knew not what.
She turned her gaze back to the children just as the little girl scrapped the stick across her brother's chest, knocking him over again. He fell to the ground and laid there, still.
"Tristan!" called Gawain. Adima looked up. Tristan was leading his horse away from them to tie up near the other horses. Adima smiled. "Tristan, come sit with us!" Gawain requested cheerfully. Tristan appeared tired, and Adima noticed he was leading his horse with a different hand than usual.
She quickly turned back to the children. The little boy's sister kindly helped him to his feet and they continued playing with the wooden sticks. Adima stood up immediately and followed Tristan.
Tristan was tying Passebreul to a tree when Adima reached him. She approached the horse the way she was taught to, slowly, from the left side. "Hello," she said with a friendly tone.
Tristan looked at her but refrained from speaking. He simply nodded and continued with his business. Adima tried to think of something else to say, but it seemed the words were stolen from her.
She noticed Tristan digging his hands under the horse's saddle, preparing to lift it off its back. "Here," Adima reached under the back end of the saddle with one hand, knocking Tristan's out of the way. "Let me help. You're hurt," she slightly blushed, half regretting her sudden offer.
"It's heavy," Tristan warned, and together, they lifted the saddle form Passebreul's back, setting it down lightly on the ground. They then set it upright and leaned it against the tree.
Adima stepped back a moment, catching her bearing. She smiled to herself; the saddle was heavy, but she was glad she could help.
"Thank you," Tristan said quietly.
"What are you going to do about that wound?" Adima wondered aloud.
"I'll clean it," Tristan explained.
"Do you need any help?" Adima asked sweetly. Tristan remained silent. He made his way around the horse and started walking away from the animals. He pulled out his water skin. "My help?" Adima stopped him in his tracks. He looked at her not sure of how to respond. No one ever baffled him so much as she did. Adima felt a surge of bravery course through her. She suddenly felt confident with herself.
She stared Tristan right in the eye. "Let me help you," she insisted firmly. With yet again, no reply, Adima took this as her hint to do so as she wished. "Come," she said calmly.
Tristan followed her to the wagon she'd been traveling in and watched, his mind filled with thoughts of confusion, as Adima picked out a pair of small grey cloths to clean his wound with. He turned around, standing by the side of the wagon.
It was dark there, and quiet. Adima then appeared from his left, holding the two cloths in her hand. She smiled at Tristan hopefully as she approached him. Tristan let out a subtle sigh. He was nervous, and didn't know quite what to do. Again, the thought of Adima's heritage loomed like a dark cloud in his mind.
He felt a little guilt for these feelings. He didn't want to stop her however as she neared him. What was he getting himself into? She's a Woad, he reminded himself once more. But for some reason, part of him didn't care anymore.
He didn't resist as she gripped the bottom of his sleeve lightly with her fingers and rolled it gently up his muscular arm. Inside, her body was tense from nervousness, as was his. Adima took slow, light breaths, and concentrated heavily on the wound.
Adima grimaced slightly when she looked upon the open wound. It looked painful. There was a small, rounded hole, penetrating deep into the front of his shoulder. Dark dried blood encrusted the hole in which the arrow pierced him.
The stars twinkled brightly overhead and the moon illuminated the sky with an ethereal light that would sooth the soul. Tristan remained as still and silent as possible as Adima cleaned his wound. He gave her his water skin and she wet one cloth with the cool water that poured from it. She caressed the wound softly with the cloth and the cool water felt good to Tristan. His muscles trembled beneath his skin and Adima tried to stabilize her hands from shaking with tension. She slowly was able to relax herself. She breathed deeply, taking her time, slowly to clean the wound properly.
The grey cloth was now stained with light hints of blood. Adima would have wished to break the deathly silence, but she couldn't find the right words to say at the moment. Her throat seemed to have been walled up, and the words could not escape her.
"There," she finally pushed out, almost breathlessly. She laid the bloodstained cloth on the ground, and wrapped the dried one around his shoulder. Stepping back a little, she observed his arm, approving her work. "That should help," she added slowly, moving forward again.
Tristan rolled his brown sleeve back down again. "Thank you," Tristan smiled. Adima smiled too glad he had spoken.
She moved a little closer to him, catching her breath. Tristan remained still, swallowing hard. A warm sensation coursed through his body. His muscles tensed and his eyes were fixed on Adima's soft face. For a moment, a feeling of peace washed over him, but then, his thoughts took a vital turn.
"Adima," she paused at the urgent sound in his voice. "I-I," he stumbled over his words. Adima felt as though weights were being lifted on her heart. She could tell in the tone of his voice, something was wrong. "I can't," Tristan whispered. The weights dropped.
Tristan looked for one quick moment into Adima's pitiful glossy eyes before turning away, without another word.
Adima just stood there in silence; she made no attempt to reconcile. A cool wind whipped her hair from behind, curling it against her ears and the sides of her face. She was shocked by his words, but she tried to calm herself, as much as it hurt.
She wondered why he left her, and considered chasing after him, but she did not. She stood alone in the snow, as tiny specks of ice fell from the sky like a light rain.
(a/n: Justice3 – Okay, I am so sorry, and even though ModestySparrow has a perfectly good excuse for not finishing this a lot sooner, I really don't. So I am sorry that this took so long. I will push to get Chapter 6 out to you asap!!!!!)