A/N: Here you go, another chapter! I hope you like it, and sorry for the shortness, next one will be longer! :D

Chapter seven: Saxons

Tristan pushed his mare towards where he knew the Saxons trails were, behind the caravans. It seemed that the men had sent scouts of their own, and a now grossing infantry was walking behind them, still short of a day or little less, while a company of a dozen men where high on tracks.

Leera growled when she spotted them half-an-hour behind the last of their company. Tristan stopped his horse, and they both dismounted.

While his gaze locked on hers, she could see many instructions flying in his dark irises. She understood she had to stay behind with her bow while he waited for them with his sword. Had he understood she couldn't fight with anything else than an arrow, she did not know.

But she still did as asked.

Taking off the tunic but keeping the belt, Leera felt better than anything else when the breeze touched her naked skin. Her bare arms and stomach ached with blood-lust, and she craved to kill those who attempted to her land's well-being.

The first of them entered Leera's sight. With a swoosh, the first arrow made contact with the first man's right eye. With an impressed glance in her direction, Tristan unsheathed his sword. She noticed how much it was curved. A gracious weapon, deadly.

Another Saxon fell, an arrow locked to the feathers between his eyes.

The third dodged it, only for the man behind to receive it between the ribs, and they both fell to a whirl of Tristan's sword.

It went on and on like that until two Saxons managed to circle her and attack her with axes and swords less gracious than her companion's but still as deadly seeing as she had no idea of how to drive them away. Whenever she had been fighting, her retreat had been prevented by her brothers, fighting with short daggers. She never had had to cross a man's arm.

She dodged the first blow, pushing an arrow hard into the man's throat, hot blood dripping onto her hands and face. She spat the foul thing and turned to the next one, who managed to nearly decapitate her. Hopefully, she was still light and quick. The axe only cut her leg superficially.

Whilst the last man fell under Tristan's blow, Leera jumped onto her last assailant and bit him hard on the ear, tearing it apart.

The Saxon yelled in pain and twirled his sword around, but his blow was caught when an arrow found its way between Leera's arms and head and into the man's skull.

Turning around, Leera found Tristan looking at her warily, until she tripped on her way back to his horse.

Tearing her pants a little, he pushed a part of her tunic onto the wound, and she took the opportunity to wipe the blood off her face. The Saxon's taste was still on her tongue.

Just before she climbed back behind him on the saddle, Leera managed to steal a glance from her now brother-in-arms, and she could see that, despite his distaste for her way of fighting, he still was impressed she had killed so many.

Leera was proud.

And this time, no shyness prevented her from locking her bare arms around Tristan's waist.

Damn Arthur. If she was to be trusted, better be trusted within her true identity.

She was a daughter of the Celtic forests.

And proud to be.