Chapter 10: The Sea Calls

Abigail awoke to the sound of waves, splashing rhythmically against whatever they happened to meet at the shore. The sound was so pleasant, she could hear the surge of energy in each wave, she could smell the exciting scent of salted air, she could almost see the rush of water and the white foam as the currents leapt ashore.

She was about to drift to sleep when a loud crash brought her back to consciousness. She opened her eyes and discovered that it was night, and it took her a while to adjust to the pitch blackness. The flap of the cart was down, and she was snuggled in warm blankets, her head resting on a bundle of cloth. She was aware that she felt exhausted, but also that her wound did not hurt half as much as it did when Tristan stitched it up.

Another crash of waves. It was too much, she must get up. The sea was calling to her.

Slowly, carefully, she did, aches and stings awakening. She grimaced at a particularly sharp ache in her stomach. Cerdic must have kicked her hard.

Abigail took one of the blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders. She found her boots by the flap and pulled them on, the tube of the shoes icy cold. She shivered but drew aside the flap, bracing herself as a gust of ocean breeze greeted her. A faint smile touched her lips as she slid off the cart, and she kept a grip on the wood to steady herself. Her knees felt weak and even the blanket around her body felt heavy, but the determination in her heart to lay eyes on the sea was burning too brightly for her turn back.

They had made camp in a clearing with evergreen trees surrounding it, shielding the refugees from the strong winds blowing from the sea. Abigail knew where the sea was, the sounds of the waves were loud and sweet, and she felt an invisible force tug her towards the line of the trees.

Every step was laborious, and with every step, she felt her heart beating faster with anticipation. She passed by groups of peasants huddled together on the cold ground, remains of fires beside their sleeping forms. Horses snorted softly and hung their heads low, resting their tired limbs. She walked quietly, her footfalls soft so as not to trigger any potential pain in her battered body.

Stepping beyond the arching tree line, Abigail found that they were nesting beside a grassy cliff, the strong tides of the sea roaring in the heights below.

There was a broken log conveniently lying near the brim of the cliff, and Abigail sat down on it, her breath catching as she looked out into the sea, its dark waters cradling the soft glow of the moon. The bend of the coastline rose from the ocean in tall cliffs, its perilous sides carved deeply by brutal waves and unforgiving weather. Abigail felt a tad disappointed for no sandy beaches were in sight. What she would give to set foot on the soft sand of the seashore!

Her thoughts halted abruptly, and she mentally scolded herself. She had been so thrilled to see the sea that she had momentarily forgotten the pain and loss it had brought to her- the Saxons. The sea gave her the happiest times of her life, and it did not hesitate to take her dearest from her either.

She closed her eyes as tears welled up behind her eyelids. The lap of waves was cruel in her ears, and she cursed the sea. She cursed herself for loving it so.

For a moment, visions of that day drifted into her mind. Neville and Francesca's mischievous screams, George's echoing laugh, Dolores's soft hand in hers, mother's soothing smile, father's playful wink. Things that she had buried deep in her heart, things that were being unearthed and thrown at her with each thundering roll of the sea.

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He was surprised to see her there, shoulders hunched over her knees, a grey blanket thrown over her shivering shoulders, her blond hair rippling down her back and almost white in the moonlight.

She was so worn down earlier in the morning that she had been oblivious for the whole day. He had thought she would be incapable of movement for at least a few days, yet there she was.

He silently watched her, standing in the shadows. She was still, her back to him, only her hair swaying to the winds.

Suddenly, she lifted her head, turning her face. He thought she had realized his presence, but he followed her gaze and found that she was merely admiring the moon, its silver beauty hanging in an elegant arc in the company of shimmering stars.

He continued watching her as she closed her eyes, and he saw her let out a breath, her shoulders sinking deeper with the sigh. Her face was white in the dim illumination of the moon, with a tender, faraway expression, which was a dramatic contrast to the stony glares he always received from her.

It was hard to picture her as a murderer this way.

Following her lead, he closed his eyes as well. The sea held memories. His childhood home was near to the Black Sea, and amidst his blurry remembrance of home, he recalled the many visits he made with Dagonet to the seaside in summer to bring fresh fish to their village. He could recall diving into the black depths, feeling the cold black water rush by their sides, the thrill of being underwater. Each boy would hold one end of a fishing net knitted by their mothers, and they swam in one direction then the opposite, tangling fish in the coarse threads until they needed to surface for air again- fifteen years ago.

He snapped out of his trance, and to his displeasure, found the girl glaring at him. A cold air had settled in her face, and she was sitting with her back straight, shoulders thrown back, her chin held high. Her pride was almost frustrating, the defiance of those glaring eyes set to wear the patience out of people.

He considered returning to the camp, but furrowed his brow slightly and walked towards the girl. He knew she had wanted to turn him away, why should he let her triumph?

She dropped her glare as he stopped beside her. Her shoulders tensed and she looked away, into the black ocean. She was feeling uncomfortable, he could tell. A strong breath of wind washed passed them, and a strand of hair clung stubbornly to her face. He watched her as she instinctively lifted her right hand, but stopped midway and winced visibly. She had clearly forgotten about her wound.

Tristan knelt down beside her and pulled out her right arm. She bit her lips and tried to pull back, but he knew it was too painful for her so to do.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked quietly.

As expected, she tossed him a glare. "What do you think?" she retorted haughtily.

Frowning, he pushed aside her blanket and cloak, and found that she had changed into a new tunic. It was of rich and soft material, he was sure that Fulcinia had lent it to her. The sleeve was wide and billowy, and he managed to push it up her arm without having her attack his wrist again for the pain.

The marks on his wrist were still there, though faded to pink- the girl dug hard.

"Hold the sleeve," he told her, and she obliged, but not before sending him another hard glance.

Swallowing his annoyance, he vented some of it by jerking her arm to a rather awkward angle so he could see the wound clearly in the moonlight. He saw her chew her lips from the corner of his eye, but she made no sound. She had shown enough weakness to him.

He turned his attention back to her wound, which already looked better. At the very least, it was dry and the stitches were holding fast. If she did not put unnecessary force on it, the stitches could be taken out by the end of the week. Even earlier, if she was lucky. He decided that he would keep an eye on it.

Would he even be here a week from now? He doubted it. His plans were to set off once his few belongings had been packed and his horse had been given adequate rest. He had no intention of lingering on this wretched island anymore- he had been here long enough. Fifteen long years had been too much.

But Dagonet- they had talked about going home, when they sat at the tavern, downing ale. Most people did not even know they were talking, their quiet, precise words were always drowned in laughter from Gawain or complaints from Bors. But they had talked, and they had been planning to trace the southern coastline of the Black Sea, for their villagers, like all other Sarmatians, were nomads. There was no knowing where they were now, or if they even were. But they were holding onto hope, or they had been. It was only him now.

His fingers stopped, and he suddenly realized that he had been rubbing the crusted blood gently away from the gash. Awkwardly, he stiffened and pulled away, dusting the remaining red powder from her arm. He could not see her face, she had turned away from him, from the sea, but she let the sleeve down. He roughly straightened her coat and blanket, then made to stand up, but a glimmer caught his eye and he stopped.

She was crying, two lines of tears sliding down her face silently. She gave a shuddering breath, and leaned forward to rise, but Tristan caught her arm. She whipped around to glare at him, her eyes watery, a few threads of blond curls sticking to her pale face.

He held her piercing gaze, as he held her arm. He saw her yielding, and she soon lowered her eyes, another tear came tumbling down the side of her cheek, drawing attention to a purpled bruise.

On impulse, Tristan raised his free hand to her face, brushing her tears away with his thumb. Her skin was tender under his calloused hands, and he felt her shrinking away from his touch. He tightened his grip on her arm, and she lifted her eyes to look at him again. But her gaze was soft and bewildered, as he continued to stroke away the stray tears. There were bruises and scratches as well, and as he ran his fingers over them, she shuddered, whether it was from pain or from his touch, he knew not.

Sliding his hand down the side of her face and under her chin, he supported her head with a single finger, their gazes locked. Neither were breathing as Tristan's eyes wandered down to her cracked lips, and noticed a dark bruise on her lower lip. Lightly, he traced the bruise, moving soothingly. She closed her eyes, and he felt her release a breath she had been holding.

The spell was abruptly broken when her eyes snapped open, and suddenly, the hostility was there again. Hoisting herself to her feet, she glared at him, wrapping her blanket protectively around her thin body, putting distance between them.

Tristan opened his mouth to say her name, but it occurred to him that he did not even know her name. She never told him.

She turned around and walked as fast as she could, back to the shelter of the trees. Tristan stared at her back, her hair catching the wind. He slowly stood up, reliving the feel of her skin, and remembering the fear in her eyes.

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Yay! I finished this chapter! I never thought I'd finish it today, I have horse-riding competitions both today and tomorrow, and I have two tests next week, so it's a sorta miracle! Wow, it's chapter 10 already!

As you can see, Tristan is starting to feel something he shouldn't be feeling… ah, and Abi feels something too. I interjected something about Tristan's past, a connection with the ocean, something Abi's connected to as well. I hope you liked that part about Dagonet, I thought it'd be a nice twist :) A rather short chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it!

Thank you all for the sweet comments! This story is really going strong, thank you for motivating me with your lovely reviews!

K-Neptune: Thank you so much!

GreenDayzIdiot: I'm glad you like the tension and conflict! I was getting scared that there is too much, thus the "tender" moments this chapter ;) Meh, school's weird for me too lol. I'm sorry about the writer's block! -gives you Galahad cookies- I hope it'll be gone soon:D

KnightMaiden: I'm really looking forward to your updates:D Hmm, I'll think about a sequel. If I get any ideas I'll most definitely write one! Ah, I've killed enough knights for a lifetime -sniff-

Mysticpig: Thanks! Lol, I don't have time to update DTB as well… maybe next weekend :)

The sarahnater: Glad you did lol!

Lozcollie: I have every intention of continuing it, don't worry :)

MedievalWarriorPrincess: Hehe, thanks! Yup, school is really important… and annoying xD

Phantom666: No problem! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Kasora: Aww, really? You think it's moving? -huggles- Glad you think so! Ah, a very elaborate dissection of the knights lol. Very true about Lancey! Ah, evil exams! Good luck with them and I hope you're enjoying the last days of freedom very much! Can't wait for your update hun! And yeah, I've kept Tristan ;) He says hi again.

ButterflyKisses26: Aww, thank you for your compliments! I'm so glad you like the exchange between them! Really? A tender version? Lol, I'm glad to hear that! I hope you liked the true tender thing this chapter :D Update your story soon too! I love it!

OK, gotta run. It's almost time to go! Wish me luck on my competitions lol!