Disclaimer: I nothing in the movie, only the original stuff.
Britain- 467 AD
The tavern was nothing more than an open area with seats, tables, a simple wooden bar and enough alcohol for the entire army to drink for the next year. It was however a place where both knights and Roman officers could go to relieve some stress if they so desired. Most went to drink, while others went for other forms of entertainment such as woman, betting and other forms of competitions. It was there only real place to relax and spend time together, and despite the fact that all of the knights were exhausted from their battle earlier that morning they felt the need to celebrate their newfound freedom.
Tristan stood silently to the side, a crisp and shinny green apple held gingerly between his hands. He gazed out upon his other knights with a sort of detached way about him. The knights would often celebrate a victory by coming to the tavern, and it was an excuse for Bors to spend more time with Vanora, for she worked there. Upon thinking of him Tristan's dark eyes skipped around trying to find the gruff knight, and he spotted him close to the bar cradling his youngest child in his arms. I wonder if he realizes how much he cares for those children, Tristan wondered. He probably doesn't. After all, Bors was never accused of being the smartest of us.
Still something inside Tristan twisted as the seed of jealousy began to blossom. Bors had found some form of happiness in this forsaken land. He had found a woman he truly loved-even if he would never actually say those words-and together they had a family, regardless of them not being married. He had eleven children that he adored. He had found a reason to live. What will I live for once freedom is granted? There is nothing left for me to do. Nothing for me back home. Nothing here either. When I am free, my life will no longer have meaning.
He was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of laughter. He turned to look at Galahad and Gawain, who were already on the verge of being quite drunk. He watched with a bored detachment as Gawain used his foot to kick a dagger off of the ground and caught it in his hand. He pulled his hand back and let the dagger fly, sending it straight into the seat of a stool perched on the near by pillar. The young knight let out a rather drunk laugh. Galahad, who had been sitting in the company of the lovely Hallie, laughed into his container of alcohol. Hallie even smiled briefly as Gawain rent to retrieve the dagger from the stool.
Across the way Lancelot sat at one of the other tables. At the table as well were two Roman officers, gambling away their hard earned money with him.
"She gave me fleas," one of them exclaimed drunkenly.
"You better hope they're fleas," the other one responded.
Lancelot scowled at his luck. Tonight wasn't his night. One of the Roman officers had managed to beat him. As the man began to gather his belongings, Lancelot drew his dagger out and imbedded it into the table where the money had been. "Best of three."
Bors however was ignoring most of the other people in the bar, focusing on the small child he held in his arms. The child was his youngest son. He gazed down at the child's face as he held him close. He was filled with fatherly pride, though he did not understand it. He was merely a baby and had not yet done anything extraordinary for him to be proud of. The baby cooed happily as Bors swayed him slightly.
"Who wants another drink?"
Bors watched as Vanora made her way over to the table where Lancelot sat with the Romans and poured some more wine into one of their cups.
"Ahh!" Lancelot pulled Vanora down onto his lap and she gave a weary sigh. "When are you going to leave Bors and come home with me?" he asked, pressing his face into her neck.
Vanora however ignored this move and merely slapped him gingerly on the face. "My lover is watching you," she spat, pulling herself away from him and making her way across the tavern to serve others, ignoring it when Lancelot's hand tapped her on her rump.
Lancelot turned to look at Bors, a smirk on his face. Bors gazed down at the child in his arms, pulling him away slightly as to look at the child's face. The little blue-eyed baby immediately began to cry. He wanted to be back against his father's body where he felt warm. Bors's eyes skipped from the child to Lancelot and then back to the crying child in his arms as Lancelot began to chuckle softly. "Mmm...you look nothing like him," he said to him proudly. "You're all Bors." He pressed the baby back to his chest to calm his crying.
From behind Galahad, Tristan watched as the youngest knight threw a dagger into the same stool Gawain had earlier. It landed much closer to the middle than Gawain's had, and from his seat, Gawain let out a sound of frustration. Hallie squeezed his shoulders gently as if to encourage him.
Tristan raised his own dagger in his hand, blade pressed between his fingers, his apple in the other. The arm with which he was preparing to throw the dagger was the same that had been pierced earlier by a Woad arrow. His arm was still a little sore, and Tristan knew that if he used it too much that he would pay for it in the morning, but a small part of him wanted to join the other knights in their fun. He raised the dagger, pulled his arm back and let it fly. The tip of the dagger landed directly in the center of the handle of Galahad's. From behind Tristan Jols chuckled. The quiet knight couldn't help but letting a small smile of satisfaction spread across his face.
Galahad turned to the other knight in disbelief. "Tristan..." Tristan took a bite from his apple to hide his smile.
"How do you do that?" Gawain gazed up at Tristan from his seat as Hallie moved her hands to rest on his chest.
Tristan leaned down a little and pointed towards the stool. "I aim for the middle," he said around his apple. He said it as though it should be obvious and almost a bit condescendingly. Gawain merely looked at him as if to say that the quiet knight's answer wouldn't help him to be able to do the same, but at the same time the look held admiration, the kind one warrior felt for another.
"Oh, they want more!" Vanora sighed, making her way over to the bar where Bors stood. She placed her empty wine jug on the wood with a bit of frustration.
Bors turned to her, their child still cradled in his arms. "Here. Be a mother to your son."
A smile spread across the woman's face as she looked at her son. She held out her arms. "Oh, come here."
Bors placed the little boy in his mother's arms, and turned to see his best friend heading towards him. "Dagonet, where you been? We've got plans to make." Dagonet took a drink from one of the wine cups but said nothing. Bors looked towards Vanora. "Here, please. Sing."
"No," Vanora said wearily, shaking her head.
"Just a last one."
"No, I'm trying to work."
"Come sing." He was already dragging her towards the center of the tavern. "Shut up!" Dagonet turned to watch his friend lead the fair Vanora away. "Vanora will sing," Bors informed the people.
"No, no." Vanora was still rapidly shaking her head.
There were chants of 'sing! sing!' ringing through out the tavern. Dagonet leaned against a near by pole.
"Sing about home," someone said.
Gawain cupped his hands around his mouth. "Don't drop the baby."
Everyone watched as Vanora stood in the center of the tavern. "Please," Bors pleaded.
Vanora made sure her son was secure in her arms before she started to sing. As she did Dagonet smiled slightly. Vanora must have really loved Bors to give in like she did.
Land of bear and land of eagle
Land that gave us birth and blessing
Land that called us ever homewards
We will go home across the mountains
We will go home
We will go home
We will go home across the mountains
We will go home singing our song...
Throughout the tavern the song affected each of the knights differently. Bors stood there proudly watching Vanora sing. Home. Home was there with her, but soon he would be free. That was home to him. Freedom whilst with Vanora. He could taste that freedom on the back of his tongue.
Lancelot gazed off into the distance. Home? What was that? There was nothing left home for him, and this was not the end he had hoped for. Then there was that feeling in the pit of his stomach, the feeling he had that something horrible was about to happen. He tried to ignore the feeling by taking a sip of his wine, but that bittersweet feeling had settled like rocks in his abdomen.
Tristan chewed on his apple, then gazed down at it in distaste. I have no home, came his bitter thoughts. Home is gone. I have only what is here, what is now. When all is done I will have nothing and I will never be home. I don't understand their happiness, but I envy it. Home? What is home anyway? Isn't home where you are? Where you live? Then isn't this home? If not then what is it? Leaving this place cannot change things all that much. From the corner of his eyes had glanced at Galahad. He wants to leave. He believes in the existence and the goodness of home. Perhaps it is his young age. Perhaps he is just naive. Perhaps he remembers what I have forgotten. Maybe he merely still has hope. Somehow we are all lost.
Galahad was the only one who seemed to be enjoying the idea of home. He quietly sang along, happy with the idea. Home. He could almost smell it, taste it on the back of his tongue. He could feel it in the air as though he were already there. Yes, they would go home, and then they would be happy again. They could live normal lived, have families, be free to make their own choices without worrying about being killed in battle or having your friend die in front of you. Galahad itched for it. He closed his eyes, imagining what life would be like when he was home.
Gawain gazed at Vanora over Hallie's shoulder and tightened, if only fractionally, the hold he had on her arm. His eyes jumped downwards. Home sounded nice. Perhaps he would have a family and a real job, but what of all that had happened? How could he live a normal life with the memories of what he had done haunting him? He was used to this life. It was what he was, who he was. He didn't remember how to be normal, so, could he adjust to being normal and free again? That was the big question.
Dagonet swallowed as he stood by the edge of the tavern. He had always thought he would die in battle. Being free was never an option to him, and neither was going home, so he did not know how to feel. To be free and to be able to go home was a dream he had once when he first arrived in Britain, but once he saw the cemetery of the fallen knights, that dream shattered. He felt it in his gut that he would find Britain his final resting place, so the idea scared him but somehow also intrigued him. Freedom. Such a strange notion, and yet on in his grasp. He wasn't sure if he wanted it though, if he wanted home.
Arthur made his way to the tavern, his mind burdened. How would he tell his knights they were not yet to be freed? How could he explain to them that once more they had to risk their lives? That his mission was more dangerous than any other before? That they would be crossing into enemy territory and that there was a better chance of them dying and returning on the very day they were told they were done? The sound of singing floated to his ears as he reached the tavern's edge. He glanced up and stood there, watching Vanora sing, watching his knights celebrate that which he was about to take away.
...hear our singing, hear our longing
We will go home across the mountains
We will go home
We will go home
We will go home across the mountains
Arthur turned away. He could not do this, not now. It was too much. He would have been able to leave too, had Jols not spotted him. "Arthur!"
Arthur turned sharply towards the man's voice, and though he wanted to be angry at having been seen he couldn't. Perhaps this was a sign from God that he should talk to his men now instead of later. Maybe not. Either way he knew he had to tell them. There. Then.
"Arthur!" The excitement in Galahad's voice made something twist deep in Arthur's chest. How can I hurt them all now? How can I disappoint my friends, my brothers?
Gawain said a short good-bye to Hallie, as he, Galahad, and Dagonet, who had since placed his cup on a nearby table, made their way to their commanding officer. Arthur made his way further into the tavern trying to rid the feeling of dread in his stomach. His stomach knotted even tighter as he watched Bors kiss Vanora and glance down at their youngest child. How can I tell him that he may die? That me may never see her again? How can I tell him he may never see his children again? That he may never see them grow up?,he wondered as his knights approached them.
"You're not completely Roman yet, right?"
Bors placed his hand on his chest. "Rus!" He yelled out his battle cry as his best friend placed an arm around his shoulders. Tristan and Lancelot were the last two to join the other knights. Both had a feeling of dread in their stomachs.
He has come with terrible news! Tristan's mind screamed. That is why he is here. The look on his face assures that. It was, however, useless to worry so Tristan stood there, expressionless, slicing off small pieces of his apple, and chewing on them in some vain attempt to keep his mind clear.
Arthur gazed at his knights, and summoned the courage to speak. "Knights...brothers in arms...your courage has been tested beyond all limits."
Bors nodded. "Yes."
Arthur took a deep breath as though that in and of itself would make what he was about to say any easier. "But I must as you now for one further trial."
"Drink." Galahad nearly spit out his own drink as Bors suggested that to their commander, chuckling slightly.
"We must leave on a final mission for Rome before our freedom can be granted," he informed them.
Tristan glanced up at him. I knew it, he thought. I knew freedom would not be just granted. It is never enough for Romans. Nothing is ever enough.
Gawain, Galahad and Bors laughed. Surely this had to be a joke, right? Arthur wanted to get them to worry and that was why he said that. They were free. It was promised. There was no further test. Lancelot however seemed to know Arthur was not lying. Anger burned deep inside of him and threatened to consume his very soul. Dagonet and Tristan were the only ones who seemed to be unchanged by this bit of information. They had both expected something to go wrong, and though Dagonet was disappointed in this news, Tristan was not. He was the only one.
As Gawain started to walk away Arthur spoke again. "Above the wall, far in the North, there is a Roman family in need of rescue. They are trapped by Saxons." Lancelot turned to look away at this point. He knew then. Arthur was not lying. They were being sent out once more. "Our orders are to secure their safety," Arthur continued.
"Let the Romans take care of their own," Bors said rather bitterly.
Gawain gazed on Arthur in disbelief. "Above the wall is Woad territory," he reminded him, but he knew there was no reminder needed. How could any of them forget that?
"Our duty to Rome, if it ever was a duty is done," Galahad spat. "Our pact with Rome is done." This was not supposed to happen, the youngest knight thought desperately. We were supposed to be free, supposed to go home. This was not supposed to happen!
Anger bubbled up inside of Bors so strong he could not contain it, and it spilled out into his words like liquid fire. "Every knight here has laid his life on the line for you," he spat bitterly, shaking a hand in his commander's direction, though Arthur seemed unchanged. Bors pointed at Arthur sharply. "For you. And instead of freedom, you want more blood? Our blood?" There was a brief pause and Tristan wondered if the man would storm off, but Bors remained as did is anger. "You think more of Roman blood than you do of ours?" he asked, motioning around him at the other knights.
Tristan bit into his apple, realizing that he had never seen Bors so outraged. Bors was the one who always spoke of the unfairness of the Romans, and here he was seeming surprised that they broke their word. His anger was unmatched, and they had all seen his anger before, for Bors was the type of man to let his emotions get the best of him, to anger easily, especially in a matter that concerned the safety of his fellow knights.
"Bors! These are our orders." Arthur's voice held a distinct tone of finalization. He would not try to convince them it was right, but remind him that as the situation was they had to follow Rome's orders. His stern voice only contradicted the feeling of hatred and disappointment he had in the pit of his stomach. "We leave at first light, and when we return your freedom will be waiting for you. A freedom we can embrace with honor."
"I am a free man!" Bors yelled. His eyes were misted over, partially from the alcohol he had consumed, partially with anger, and the rest with pure sadness. In the background Bors's son began to cry. "I will choose my own fate!"
"Yeah, yeah. We're all going to die someday," Tristan said listlessly. The other knights, who would have seemed more startled at him speaking up if they had not all been so tense, merely gazed at him in wonder. Tristan continued to slice at his apple, his eyes not having left it yet. "If it's a death from a Saxon hand that frightens you.." he said, glancing up at the others. His gaze landed squarely on Galahad, the youngest and most headstrong. He lifted a bit of apple to his lips. "...stay home."
Galahad turned to look at Tristan, anger flaring within him, followed secondly by disbelief. He gazed at the ever-calm Tristan as he crunched on his food with hatred. "Listen," he spat. "...if you're so eager to die, you can die right now!"
Lancelot stepped in-between the two men, fearing the worst. "Enough." He pushed away Galahad's arm so that he could not reach Tristan. "Enough!"
"I've got something to live for!" The youngest knight was livid.
"The Romans have broken their word," Dagonet cut in, speaking for the first time. Tristan glanced at him curiously. "We have the word of Arthur. That is good enough. I'll prepare."
Couldn't have said it better myself, the scout thought.
As Dagonet turned to leave Tristan joined him. He of course would go as well. He would never have opposed this. It was his purpose in life, to fight, to track, to kill. Without it his world would fall into chaos.
"Bors?" The gruff knight turned to stare at Dagonet as the man spoke to him. "You coming?"
"Of course I'm coming!" Bors yelled, as though the question itself was stupid. "Can't let you go on your own! You'll all get killed!" he yelled after Dagonet and Tristan as they headed out of the tavern. He turned back towards the rest of the knights. "I'm just saying what you're all thinking!" Turning away he took a breath. "Vanora'll kill me," he mumbled to himself as he followed after Dagonet and Tristan.
"Do you think they'll grant our freedom after this mission?" Tristan asked Dagonet carelessly.
"I do not know, but I trust the word of Arthur. For me that is assurance enough."
Gawain returned to where he had stood before, taking a gulp out of his cup. "And you, Gawain?" Arthur asked him.
Gawain swallowed, looking at Arthur for a short while, and then nodding reluctantly. "I'm with you." He glanced briefly at his friend. "Galahad as well."
Galahad looked at his friend in disbelief. How could he just decide something like that for someone? Gawain may be his best friend but he had no right to choose something like that for him. Gawain however paid the look no mind. In not time Galahad would forgive him, he was sure. Instead of responding he merely started out of the tavern. He laughed bitterly, pouring the last of his alcohol out of the jug and slamming it to the ground. It shattered, and after giving his commander a final angry look he followed after Gawain.
Arthur lingered for a moment, gazing where his knights had gone before he himself left the tavern, going back the way he had come.
Arthur made his way to the stables. He had to be where he wouldn't see his knights. He was feeling such guilt right then that he was sure he would loose his sanity if he was forced to talk to them just then. He had never felt guilt like this before. If he could he would take back the last few minutes, he would change Rome's mind about sending his knights out, but it was useless. Rome's will would not change. Rome felt what Bors accused of Arthur himself; Rome cared more about this one Roman boy than all of those Pagan Sarmatian knights. Arthur hated to admit it though, that the Rome he thought so highly of could put one life above the lives of his knights, but it was true. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind though. Thinking that would do no good at the moment and would only serve to further his anger and confusion.
Arthur lifted up one of the near by saddles, holding up the leather weight in his hands. He stood there for a moment, as if trying to remember where he wanted to move the saddle to in the first place. His anger bubbled up inside of him. It was wrong. He shouldn't have to send his knights out to certain death. He should be able to give them their freedom, give them their release papers. He gripped the saddle as hard as he could and then threw it to the ground harshly in frustration. He stood there silently for a moment letting his anger simmer. "O merciful God, I have such need of your mercy now," he prayed, glancing down at the ground. "Not for myself, but for my knights, for this is truly their hour of need." From the doorway Lancelot appeared, glancing at Arthur in disdain. He could not believe that Arthur was once again praying to his god. "Deliver them from the trials ahead-" Arthur continued. "And I will repay you a thousandfold with any sacrifice you ask of me. And if, in your wisdom, you should determine that that sacrifice must be my life for theirs, so that they may once again taste the freedom that has so long been denied to them, I will gladly make that covenant." Lancelot slowly made his way over to his friend, all the while confused. "My death will have a purpose. I ask no more than that."
"Why do you always talk to God and not to me?" There was a slight trace of anger in the knight's voice. Arthur turned around sharply, silently cursing himself for not hearing Lancelot approach. Tristan would have heard him, Arthur decided. But I am no Tristan. Lancelot however was continuing to talk. "Oh, pray to whomever you pray that we don't cross the Saxons."
"My faith is what protects me, Lancelot," Arthur informed him. "Why do you challenge this?"
Lancelot glanced around the barn, but his mind lingered on what Arthur had just told them. He made his way towards Arthur and leaned on the wooden plank that divided them. "I don't like anything that puts a man on his knees."
"No man fears to kneel before the god he trusts. Without faith, without belief in something, what are we?"
Lancelot looked down briefly. "To try and get past the Woads in the North is insanity," he shot back.
"Them we've face before."
"Not north of the wall!" He rounded the wooden racks that divided them so he was closer to his friend. "How many Saxons? Hm?" He raised an eyebrow in question. "How many!" When Arthur didn't answer immediately Lancelot dropped his gaze for a moment and they fell into silence. Then he looked up again. "Tell me. Do you believe in this mission?"
"These people need our help. It is our duty to bring them out."
"I don't care about your charge, and I don't give a damn about Romans, Britain or this island," Lancelot spat. "If you desire to spend eternity in the place, Arthur, so be it, but suicide cannot be chosen for another!"
"And yet you choose death for this family!"
"No, I choose life! And freedom for myself and the men!" He slammed his hands down on the wooden plank before him. He backed away, slightly disgusted and sat down on one of the many makeshit seats of hay and saddle blankets pinching his nose.
"How many times in battle have we snatched victory from the jaws of defeat?" Arthur asked. "Outnumbered, outflanked, yet still we triumph. With you at my side. we can do so again. Lancelot, we are knights. What other purpose do we serve if not for such a cause?"
Lancelot shook his head sadly. "Arthur, you fight for a world that will never exist. Never." He stood once more and made his way back over to where he had stood shortly before. "There will always be a battlefield." He rested his hands on the wood, sighing heavily. "I will die in battle," he said with a nod. "Of that I'm certain. And hopefully a battle of my choosing. But if it be this one, grant me a favor. Don't bury me in our sad little cemetery. Burn me. Burn me and cast my ashes to a strong east wind." He stood there for a moment gazing intently at his friend, and then with a forced chuckle he turned to leave and left Arthur standing alone in the stables.
Tristan stood silently under the crescent moon. The sky was unusually clear for this time of year. Though it seemed to rain more often here than anywhere else, this time of year usually held more unpredictable weather. The lone knight let out a frustrated sigh. He had felt something wrong with the bishop the moment he arrived. He held something in his face, in his stance, in his very voice, that Tristan just didn't trust. At first he thought he was just being paranoid. It was, after all, no secret that in general Romans did not like Sarmatians, or those who did not convert to their religion, and he believed that this knowledge was what made him dislike the bishop on sight, but once he heard the bishop speak to them in the fortress hall he knew that he was going to do something that would anger them. Why else would he want to speak to Arthur alone? Why else would he seem so angry when Arthur insisted that they held no secrets?
But you do hold secrets from us, Arthur, Tristan thought. You wonder off every time we return to the fort. Where do you go? Who do you meet that you do not speak of?
Tristan shook his head. It really didn't matter. Who Arthur spoke to and where he went was in fact his own business and Tristan had no right to question him. Arthur was his commander, not his equal, regardless of what Arthur seemed to believe. Arthur was a dreamer and he truly believed that all men were equal. How he could think that after seeing all that he had was a wonder to the other knights, but that was one of the most endearing things about him. He had faith in people, in the world, in life. He truly believed that one day people would be equal as foolish as that was.
Above him his hawk let out a screech. His dark eyes skipped up to her. "What's the matter, huh?" He held out his arm to her, inviting her to once again land there like she had earlier. She circled over him for a while before perching on his arm. Tristan gazed into the animal's golden eyes. "Are you worried too, girl?" He stroked her feathers lightly. "Do not worry. Everything will be fine." The hawk screeched loudly, flapping her wings. A small smile spread across Tristan's lips. "You do not believe that anymore than I do, do you? I cannot say that I disagree. It does seem hopeless."
The hawk's head suddenly turned away from Tristan. "What's the matter Alleta?" he asked. "What do you hear?"
Tristan followed his gaze. In the courtyard bellow where he his in the shadows stood a young girl with a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She had not been there before, he was sure of it. "Who is she? Do you know?" The hawk stared back at him unblinking. "Keeping that bit of information to yourself are you? Well, that's quite all right. I forgive you." She snapped at his fingers as if to say she did not need forgiveness. She had done nothing wrong.
Tristan smiled at his companion and continued to watch the girl below.
Rihana leaned against the outside of the building. The night was bitter, but clear. She felt this emptiness inside of her thinking of everyone leaving. She had found this village to be a place she belonged, a place where she had a home. Without them where would she be? Alone as she had been once so long ago. she adjusted her shawl a little, tilting her head to glance at the sky. The crescent moon stared back at her, unwavering. "Do you think I'll be all right?" she asked the sky. "Being alone again, huh?" She shook her head sadly. "I don't know if I could do that again. Being lonely is no way to live. I don't want to loose everything. But I don't believe there is anything I can do to stop myself from loosing it all. I want things to stay the same. Is that selfish?"
As if in an answer a loud crack of thunder ripped across the sky. Alleta screeched, flapping her wings harshly and flying into the air. Tristan watched the girl tense, and turn his way. He ducked into the shadows, pressing himself against the nearby wall.
Rihana searched the dark. What was that? From the near by wall a hawk took off into the night.
Rihana felt herself relax as she let out a small laugh. "You mustn't jump at every sound, Rihana. Who would be out here at this time besides you to begin with? No one would be watching you." She shook her head as another clap of thunder sounded.
Tristan slowly made his way back to where he stood. Leaning over he glanced down at the girl.
"Miss!"
Rihana turned sharply to her left.
Walking towards her was a man that Tristan recognized as the bishop's servant. What does he want with this girl? Tristan wondered.
Rihana tilted her head gazing at the man. "Yes?"
"Miss, my master requests a word with you. Immediately."
She frowned. "Your master?"
"Yes. My master." When she did not respond he let out a frustrated sigh. "Bishop Germanius." A thunder clap. "He wishes to speak to you ow."
"But...what on earth would he wish to speak to me about?"
"I don't know. I did not see the reason to ask." Horton glanced up at the sky. "Miss, it's going to rain soon. We should be going."
"Do you dislike the rain?"
"I find it rather unpleasant to be stuck in."
Rihana smiled. "I love the rain. Do you know what some believe it is?" She didn't wait for an answer. "The tears of those who have died. If they see someone they care about in a great deal of pain or danger they cry from their final resting place."
Horton glanced at her in distaste. "Ridiculous."
She shrugged gracefully. "Perhaps, but that is what some believe."
As large drops of rain began to fall Horton tried in vain to cover his head. "Come miss. Let us go." Rihana stood motionless for a moment and then with a small nod she began to follow Horton. She had moved no more than a few steps when she turned. Her eyes locked to where Tristan stood, though he doubted she could see him in the dark through the rain. Still, the fact that she chose that place to look unsettled him. He was not used to being unsettled, especially a woman. No, not just any woman, he told himself. She is a Woad. I could tell a Woad from any distance. But what is a Woad doing here? And why would the Bishop want to speak to her?
Tristan glanced up at the sky, then shook his head, laughing to himself quietly. "Dead people crying? That, I'm afraid, is absurd." Besides, no one would cry for me even if it were true. I have no one who would care that much.
Please review this story. It has gotten over 500 hits but 7 reviews. I know that some people don't have time to review but even something short is nice, even if it's bad. Please? I'm begging here. puppy dog whimpers