Five - Fog

Snapping fizzled in the middle of the night, and with each loud crackle, it became obvious she'd awakened. Lana opened her eyes quickly, her face was smashed on the dirt, and after she lifted her cheek, twigs and leaves stuck. Brushing off the objects, Lana looked at her wrists, the vines in which held her where scattered on the ground, touching her chest, she felt the dry blood. She looked to her left, Gawain, untied as well was lying lifelessly. He'd been sprawled near the fire; crawling on her knees, Lana moved over his legs, and touched his face. He was still warm.

Jerking her neck, there were no Woads in sight, but Gawain's axe, and Lana's sword and daggers where on the ground, inches from the dying fire. Each curved in the forest felt empty they must have left. Leaning over his body, she noticed a cloth, clogging his kidney wound. Her hands flustered over his body, unsure what to do.

"Gawain, Gawain," She slapped his cheek lightly, hoping not to cause pain near his cut. After a few moments of repeating his name, his eyes opened, blinking feverously. Lana pushed him back to the floor as he tried to get up. "Stay still, your wound,"

"Merlin came," Lana's eyes halted, Merlin? "Rebel Woads, he scared them off, then dropped our weapons, and proceeded to knock me out." Said Gawain unhappily. "Let me up,"

"Shut up," Lana hissed, she pinned his shoulder to the ground. On her knees, she lifted the drenched cloth; crimson fluid rushed from the opening, and with a cringing face, Lana placed the cloth back down.

"I figure it's a day and a half home. Two if we break for night." Gawain mentioned his arm lifted up, and touched his tender forehead. Lana held out her hand, offering to help him up. Once his hand gripped hers, her voice changed, her head was throbbing as well. Her eyes closed once Gawain stood still, shifting his hand over his wound, he reached out, catching Lana in time. "Whoa, Lana you alright?" He noticed her cut above her chest; it was dry, but deep. What a wonderful scar it will become.

"Head, spinning," Removing her hand, she looked back at Gawain. They'd been so close once, however, as Lancelot entered her heart, most of her time with the other Knights fell apart. When he dropped his arm, he bent over, his face wincing while grabbing his axe. Once her sword and other weapons came to their original location, Lana looked about the darkness. "What do you suggest?"

"Walk," Gawain pointed to her right, Lana nodded, before heading off though, she picked up a clump of sticks, twigs and other burnable substances, tying them with the vine, she placed the large end into the fire.

"Alright," Gawain nodded; it only took moments before Gawain felt the effects of much blood loss. Lana turned back, once Gawain shuddered she took over. "Damn it, Lana let go!" Gawain's pride was taking a back seat; Lana maneuvered his left arm about her shoulders.

"Shut your damn mouth Gawain, or I'll hit you with you're own axe!" Lana threatened loudly, Gawain grumbled as their long journey began.

After almost every half an hour, Gawain needed a rest, his breathing never ran smoothly, and his eyes were barely open. Once several hours past, and tree after tree was forgotten, Lana watched how the weight on her body increase, and Gawain's large feet shuffle with each step. His face, frail and weak, only held color by the slash under his eye. The mixed brown and blonde within his beard matched his hair, Lana was always curious as to what true color held his hair. Each month past his hair seemed longer than her own and tangled about each strand.

Gawain astounded Lana, he was calm and cool, but in battle, he held a fire in which she'd never seen before. He reminded her of Galahad, which ironically enough, the two were just as tight as Lancelot and Arthur.

"Alright, Gawain, wake up," Her hands, viciously shaking, were about to give out. From holding up Gawain and the torch, she wasn't able to feel a damn thing.

"Huh?" Gawain muttered Lana stopped, dropping the torch to the ground, it caught fire to a small bundle of leaves. With a few large trees as shelter within the forest, she tried to help him safely to the ground, but what lack of strength she had Gawain kinda fell. Lana turned to the flames, and hobbling around the growing blaze, she separated small twigs, to keep the flames under control. Her eyes fluttered about her surroundings, she saw a few large branches, and as Gawain laid on the floor, she ripped her cape off, covering her friend with the warmth.

Stealing his axe, Lana chopped with what little energy left, and managed to have a decent amount of wood for a fire. Once all was settled, she slid to Gawain, and on her knees, she tried to sit him up. Sleeping could cause him to never awake that wasn't Lana's idea.

"Gawain, wake up, please wake up!" Lana had him sitting, yet his eyes still shut. Breathing loudly, she saw her weaved skirt, overlapping her leather armor. Her fingers fumbled over the knots, until she held a long run of thick fabric. Tossing the line to the side, she worked quickly, unraveling his armor from his waist. Seeing more blood, she covered her mouth, the sight of large amounts of blood made her stomach weak.

Cowering, Lana rolled the plated armor up to his chest, until he fell back down. Scrambling, she yanked up his armor, and placing the white cloth back over the wound, she froze. "There is a plant, leaves, it helps stop bleeding, actually promotes clotting." Lana's free hand waved in the air, as if she was planning to pick the name of the plant from the air. She remembered how freely the plant grew, but also how the taste was great. Gawain always carried food in his pouches. Adding pressure to his wound, she reached in, and thus, pulled out the leave she needed. "Thank the gods you enjoy eating Gawain."

It didn't take long before the bleeding stopped, Lana sat next to Gawain, her cape blanketed over his body, and she huddled over the fire. Stroking her arms swiftly, she almost wished the faster she moved, the warmer she'd become. But she was still freezing in the fall night.

Birds whistled, and the moon faded behind clouds -- the night was empty.

At Tristan's advise, the Knights camped for the rest of the nights. They'd gained much ground from the day, but still no Lana or Gawain in sight. Lancelot's mind raced with horrible ideas of what would happen to her, and his child. Fear for his friend wasn't absent as well, if Gawain had been killed, Lancelot could never forgive himself. Arthur was livid already, if one of them wouldn't return, Lancelot could see his head on a stake.

The same fog that caused the disappearance was broad this night. Arthur stood next to the fire, deep in thought. Lancelot could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. Lancelot admired Arthur's mind, the brilliance and heroism, which derived from his every pour. Lancelot knew he would never be that great of a man, never in his years would he amount to Arthur. The current event proved it. Arthur would have never lost Gawain or Lana. Arthur Castus would never allow any of his Knights from the safety of his sword. Lancelot failed miserably, he couldn't even protect his pregnant girlfriend. The more he wrapped his mind around it, the brighter it was. Arthur, hands down was truly a better man, in all aspects.

And as the fog floated around them, no one made a sound, not wishing to have Arthur's wrath.