okay, I'm going on a holiday as soon as I've posted this, so I won't be able to get near a computer until the 11th. I hope to have the next chapter up within the week.

Thankyou to all my terriffic reviewers, without you I wouldn't have written this. :)

I flew into the forest. I was surprised to see hundreds of blue painted people, armed and ready waiting in the shadows – Woads. I could only hope that they were fighting on Arthur's side.

I perched on a low branch, watching as the Woads fired a volley of arrows. Then there came the echoing sound of hoof beats – then the sounds of battle.

I shuddered at the screams and groans that came from the Saxons as Arthur and the knights swept through them. Again the Woads fired, and again the knights charged – this time from behind.

It was a massacre – the Saxon couldn't stand the force of the charging horses. The horses broke through the shield wall, and the knights struck the Saxon dead as easily as a scythe cuts through wheat.

Only one Saxon was left alive – he was allowed back through the gate, stumbling and bleeding as a message to Cerdic. Arthur wasn't defeated, he was still in it.

I glanced up at the hill where the knights had been earlier. Their standards were still there – but now Woads were pulling huge wooden machines up to the crest of the hill.

Trebuchets, my human mind supplied. We had studied them in high school, and built them – although admittedly not as large and powerful as the ones the Woads had.

Merlin. My first sight of the legendary figure. He was cloaked in animal furs, his face was painted dark blue and he held a spear in one hand. He stood before the catapults like a God, and I couldn't help but feel awed. Even from this distance I could tell that he had power.

The Woads loaded something into the slings – I couldn't tell what they were from where I was. They set fire to them, and waited. I glanced down at the gate. What I saw made me shiver.

Hundreds of Saxon were pouring in through the gate. More, way more than the Woad army. Arthur and his knights were going to die.

I shivered again as the Saxon formed up and the flank separated from the main army. The Saxon advanced, their drums and chants so loud that the ground seemed to tremble.

Then the trebuchets were fired.

They hurled the flaming balls into the sky, leaving huge streaks of smoke in their wake. They fell to the ground among the Saxon, and burst, sending huge flames up which killed many.

The screams were awful, and I wished suddenly that I was home with Ebony and my family. Then the Woads loaded their bows with arrows – arrows with tar-soaked rags bound around their tips. Several Woads carrying torches lit the arrow tips. I wondered what was going on now – surely the fire arrows would be more noticeable when in the sky, giving the Saxons more time to get their shields up?

Then the Woads fired. The hail of burning arrows flew through the air, and the Saxons used their round shields to protect them. Still, several careless or unlucky men were struck – but then a wall of fire went up, completely separating the flank from the main army.

Clever, Arthur, I thought wryly. Obviously he had met with Merlin, had made plans. As the leader of the Woad archers raised her axe and yelled, I recognised her with a start.

Guinevere was painted blue all over, her long dark hair tied back. She looked magnificent, if not rather threatening. She led the Woads, screaming and yelling, at the flank led by Cynic. I felt a pang of jealousy – I wish I had a body like that!

Immediately I shook myself. Hundreds of people were about to die, Tristan perhaps among them, and I was jealous of Guinevere? I pushed the thought out of my mind.

She was a good fighter. What she lacked in strength she made up in speed and agility. She attacked a Saxon fiercely, slashing and dodging.

But all the time I was watching I couldn't help but wonder about Tristan. Was he still alive? Was he hurt?

At last I could stand it no more. I took off into the smoke-filled sky, flying lower than usual to scan the battle field. The screams and yells were terrible. I could smell the metallic scent of blood. Human blood smelled much the same as animal blood, and I was reminded of all the times I had hunted.

It was different from battles in movies. There was no music, no mercy, no choreographed fights. It was death. I shuddered, wanting desperately to fly away, but I had to find Tristan.

When I did, I felt another shiver of icy fear wash over me. He had found Cerdic.

Tristan shoved his helm off his head – a deliberate sign of disrespect towards Cerdic. The Saxon let Tristan make the first move, parrying and feeling out the knight's defence. I saw the warlord take a hand off his sword and move it to his belt. He drew a dagger, and I felt a sudden arrow of fear strike through me.

I circled lower, desperate to see what was happening. Cerdic parried again and slashed at Tristan's side with his dagger. Tristan took a step back and put his hand to his side before looking at it. I could see the deep crimson of blood, and my heart felt as if it had skipped a beat.

Tristan didn't look angry or pained. He blew his hair off his face and looked at Cerdic, a sort of wondering respect on his face. He knew that he had met his match.

It didn't go well after that. Cerdic rammed his dagger through Tristan's arm. Tristan dropped his sword and stumbled back, and I thought that my heart might stop in fear. But Cerdic seemed to be enjoying playing with the knight – he kicked Tristan's sword back over.

I could see how much it hurt Tristan to lean over and pick it up. He swung wildly with it, but Cerdic blocked easily and ran his sword through Tristan's armour and into his chest. I could tell that it was not a killing blow – just a wound that would put Tristan in enough pain not to fight back.

Cerdic kicked Tristan down onto the ground. If I was human I would have cried to see Tristan crawl away, slowly and painfully. His face was to the ground, and for that I was thankful – I didn't want to see the shame, anger and anguish that I knew he would be feeling.

I knew that at that moment, Tristan would want death. He would be furious at himself for crawling, for throwing away his pride. I dropped lower, watching and wishing there was something I could do.

Cerdic thrust his sword, tip first, into the soft ground before picking up Tristan's blade. The Saxon looked at it, in a kind of amused detachment, before walking two steps forward and pulling Tristan up from the ground by his hair.

Cerdic half pulled Tristan up, so that he could deliver the killing blow. Tristan pulled Cerdic's dagger out of his arm and plunged it into the Saxon's leg. Cerdic grunted and thrust Tristan's own sword into the knight's back – again, not a killing strike but a painful one.

Cerdic looked up, across the battle field. I followed his gaze, and saw Arthur. The half Roman looked up, and I could see the horror and anger that flashed across his face before he went back to fighting.

I wish there was something I could do. I circled, and saw Tristan glance up at me. It brought a kind of sad comfort to know that he was glad to see me. Cerdic raised his arm and spun to deliver the killing slash across Tristan's chest.

It was in that moment that I moved. I moved purely out of instinct – I didn't have a plan or an idea of what to do, I just dived.

I dived, faster than I had believed possible. I extended my claws and screeched an animal cry of fury. Cerdic was distracted at the worst possible time, and glanced up – just as I reached him.

I raked my claws savagely across Cerdic's face. I heard him give a hoarse yell of pain as one of my talons grazed his eye. Then I felt a heavy blow to my left wing, and I fell to the ground.

Cerdic brought up his sword, and I saw with satisfaction that his left eye was bloody and his face bore the marks of my claws. My left wing wouldn't work – it was broken. But I didn't care. All I wanted now was to join Tristan in death. There was nothing left for me in life without him.

I saw a sword just near me. I wished desperately then for a human body, so that I could at least try to kill Cerdic.

That must have been the magic thought.

Suddenly I felt the cold air on my skin, and saw Cerdic's face change from one of absolute fury to absolute surprise and confusion. I stood up – and realised I had arms. Yes, I was human again. And completely naked.

I pushed the rather embarrassing realisation that I wasn't wearing anything out of my mind. While Cerdic was staring, I picked up the sword at my feet. It was heavier than it looked.

He realised what I was doing as I swung the sword towards him. He blocked it with contemptuous ease, then brought his sword around again in a wickedly curving slash that streaked across my chest, across my right shoulder and down my back.

I felt the pain, knew that I was cut. I started to fall – after so long as a hawk, I had rather forgotten how to use human feet and legs. As I fell, Cerdic flicked his sword and it seared past my throat.

I felt the burn of steel cutting through my skin, but it was a shallow cut and not the killing stroke he had aimed for. I fell to the cold ground and met Cerdic's eyes. I didn't care that I was about to die.

I had gotten a slight revenge – if Cerdic survived the battle, he would be permanently blind in the eye I had gouged, and he would have the scars on his face forever.

But Tristan was dead, I was about to die. Somehow I couldn't feel sad or regretful or even angry. I just wanted to be Tristan's hawk, either in this life or the next.

I had already died once, when the tree fell on me. Would this be more painful? I didn't know or care. I had once said that I would follow Tristan to hell and back. Now I would keep my word.

Something amazingly hard hit me on my head. I didn't have time to think a last thought before I fell into the roaring dark once again.

I opened my eyes. I wasn't dead – was I? I moved my right hand cautiously. My left arm was painfully stiff and I couldn't move it.

'Arthur!' I knew that voice. It was Galahad. 'She's awake!'

I moved my head slightly, and found four people looking at me with varying expressions. Arthur looked tired and surprised, Gawain curious, Galahad interested. Merlin looked like he always did – calm and solemn.

'Tristan?' I croaked. My throat felt rough as sandpaper.

'He's alive,' Arthur said grimly, a little suspicious. 'If he survives the night, he'll pull through. Who are you?'

Relief flooded me at his words. Tristan was alive. On the battlefield I had thought he was dead. But then my joy and relief faded as I looked around the room once again. I was on a straw-stuffed mattress, with a warm blanket covering me, which was good as I was still naked and the four men were staring at me.

They wanted answers, and I wasn't sure I had any. After all, how could I explain that I was a hawk and that I was born fifteen hundred years after they had died?

I sighed. This was going to take a long time.