A/N- ugh things are progressing a little slow round here writing wise at least. But I do highly recommend that you check out our website (our- meaning mine and Lalane Michael's, my good friend and future co-author) at
h t t p : l a l a n e a n c a m i l l e . p r o b o a r d s 3 8 . c o m
It's a really cool place where you can get to kno other readers, talk through ideas for future writings and discuss fav movies books etc.. Hope to see you there!
The reached the stables and parted to gather their gear. Secretly, Lancelot hoped that it would be the last time for her. He could not quite quash the desire to have her stay home. However, anyone could see the contentment in her face as she turned her hand to familiar tasks, and he felt guilty for even thinking it. From the opposite side of the room, Tristran, ever a loner was perched, like a lion in the shade, lazily running a whetting stone down the already keen edge of his blade. He gave a small smile as he observed the two lovers stealing glances at each other across the room, attempting to unobtrusive, and failing. Satisfied that his advice had gone to good use he returned his attention back to his sword. A noise at the door caused them to lift their heads; with the reflexes born of long experience on the battlefield. Arthur walked in. His hair was tousled and his face held a mixture of sadness, wisdom, and almost doggish wariness. When none of his knights leapt for their swords and charged towards him, the muscles in his shoulders relaxed and he seemed to drop several years from his tall frame. Looking around, Camille saw that although she could see anger and reproach in the faces of some of the men it was far outshone with their respect and devotion to the tall haggard man before them. Smiling sadly he raised his hands and said
"my knights? Let us ride one final time", it was eerily related to his ill-fated words he had uttered upon embarking to escort the bishop; their "last mission". Silently, Camille and the men gave their horse's girths an extra tug, sheathed and shouldered their weapons, mounted their horses, and rode out of the dusty stable, into the weakly sunlit courtyard. At the gate, Bors turned and gave one final wave to Vanora and she waved back. Camille could see that her face was hard; she knew the other woman would weep once she was on her own. They rode low and light, carrying only the most essential equipment and heads bent to their horses necks, running as fast as they could be carried.
In the forest, a nasty surprise awaited them. Thorny vines and crude picket fences sprang from the underbrush, triggered by Woad archers, cutting off any escape to what appeared to be a large-scale ambush. Furious to be faced with the prospect of perishing before they could finish their mission and be free. They nocked arrows to bows, drew swords and bit back cries of fury. Groups of spearmen pinned them in and they could sense the scores of archers that hid in the trees.
"Go on then, why don't you shoot?" yelled Gwain defiantly. Tristran, Galahad, and Camille held their drawn bows tensely, ready to release the shafts and take down as many Woads as possible with them.
"I didn't know you shot," remarked Tristran calmly to Camille, as if they were at a tea party instead of an ambush in which they were most likely going to die.
"Father's bow" she said shortly, her eyes on the trees
"Is every weapon you own inherited from a parent?" he quipped in reply. She allowed herself a smile that showed all her teeth,
"It's right that way, seeing they taught me to use them" He smiled at this, he too had heard the stories of how she had dispatched her family's killer, although he had kept his opinions on the matter to himself, as usual. As the sat there, pinned down beneath the trees, they heard the hollow, reedy, wavering cry of a horn. Everyone looked up, trying to find its source. It sounded again and as quickly as they had come, the Woads vanished back into the trees.