Morning dawned bright through the trees. Morholt and Elyan began to wake the group, but many clawed themselves to consciousness on their own. Fira didn't help with breakfast, an oddity in and of itself. Then after eating, she asked Galahad to accompany her into the forest.

“What I need to do must remain mine and mine alone.” She whispered quietly to Leon. “I don't want to put any of you into a… a compromising position.”

Leon looked confused. “But Galahad is fine?”

“We,” she hesitated, “share a bond, if you will. All with magic in their blood do.”

Leon didn't look happy but finally gave his approval. “Be back soon and don't take too long. We need to leave this place.”

“Of course,” she agreed quickly. Gesturing to Galahad, they snuck off deeper into the forest, away from camp.

“Fira!” Galahad called her to stop a few minutes later. “Fira what are we doing?”

“I need to send Merlin a message. And… and I need to make sure Camelot is alright. So obviously the majority of the others can't know.” She rubbed her forehead. “Trust me.”

“Always.”

Fira looked at the ground before turning her head to the sky. “Höre mich, Falke!”

They remained still for a minute as nothing happened. But suddenly a great falcon swooped down from the treetops and landed on a low nearby branch. It had brown speckled feathers and a beak like a knife.

“I need you to send a message,” Fira said, coming before it. “Take it to Camelot. Speak to Nada the cat in Camelot city. She will deliver my message to Emrys.”

The falcon bowed its head in comprehension. Fira, approaching it, whispered in its ear. Galahad did not hear what was spoken, but he knew who it was going to. Likely it had to do with information she had gotten from the stag about their quest. Probably something she’d told Leon and Gwaine the night before. They had all come back somber. As she drew away, he watched her draw herself up higher.

“Gehen! Ich befehle dir! Scheitern Sie nicht, Falke.” Fira watched as the falcon flew up and out of sight. She knew it would take many days for a message to reach her, but there wasn't an alternative.

Galahad and Fira exchanged nods. Together they made for camp, eager to be out of the dangerous Forest of Avon. Even now, on the edge of hearing, Fira thought she could hear the growls of the Cú Sídhe.

They broke into the campsite five minutes later to find her bags packed and sitting next to Aland. The others were all ready to leave. Fira immediately attached the saddlebags to Aland and mounted up. With a nod, Leon had them set off.

They spent but a few more hours in the forest. By noon, the trees were thinning rapidly, and rolling hills appeared in front of them. Gwaine stopped his horse right on the edge of the forest as the others continued around him. He had a serious expression on his face, a very different face than what he’d been wearing before their approach of Somerset.

Percival noticed and dropped back. “You good?”

“Fine.” Gwaine brushed it off with a roguish smile. “When am I ever not fine, my friend!”

“More times than you lead us to believe,” Percival pointed out astutely.

Gwaine rolled his eyes and laughed, kicking Gringolet into a gallop. The horse sped forward, eager to run after days cooped up traveling through the forest. As he passed Aland carrying Fira, the other magically attuned horse took off after him. Soon the rest joined in, though none good catch Aland and Gringolet.

The horses finally stopped upon reaching the top of a large hill, encountering a road. Down below was a city, a great city with an enormous castle at its end.

“Welcome to Somerset.” Morholt smiled, his expression distant as he thought of their impending encounter with King. “That is Castle Bertilak in the distance, home of King Roland Bertilak and the Lady Anna Bertilak.”

Far in the distance, Fira fancied she saw the horizon stretch endlessly. She pointed. “What is there?”

“The Sea,” Gwaine stated simply, a smile playing at his lips.

Fira’s eyes grew wide. She had heard about such things as oceans but had never encountered one. In fact the biggest water mass she had come across was the Lake of Avalon.

“We need to be sure all Pendragon crests are hidden.” Tor jolted the group back to reality. “Camelot is not well liked in Somerset these days.”

It didn't take long. Most of the knights had taken their cloaks off already and slicing out the Pendragon crest from the saddle blankets didn't take much effort. Soon they set off down the well paved road, deeper into Somerset.

Tor and Morholt led the way, a new spring in their cantering as they entered their homeland. Gwaine, too, seemed eager. Aland and Fira wanted nothing else but to run across the emerald grass to the sea, but that was not to be their fate, at least not yet.

Elyan and Leon seemed the least comfortable. Even they felt a twinge of magic in the air. Everything was just slightly too beautiful. Too perfect. It put them on edge, and they both took comfort in knowing the other felt the same way.

Galahad’s sense were in overdrive. Every time the wind blew, his sixth sense was triggered. It took him over an hour to coax himself down to a new normal level of heightened security. Percival noticed his odd behavior and asked him about it.

“You okay, Galahad?” Percival led his horse up beside the druid Knight. “You're acting… strange.”

Galahad almost laughed at that description. “Am I? Not surprised at all. There's magic all over this kingdom and it keeps making me jittery.”

Gareth and Gaheris were in the middle of the pack. On both their faces was plastered a look of awe. The brothers were mostly used to the cold north of Orkney during winter, but this new Southern land was awe-inspiring. Gareth was especially eager to continue.

The sun was sinking in the sky when they finally reached the outer part of the main city of Somerset. As they rode through, children ran laughing, playing tag. A dog ran in front of the horses, chasing a little yellow butterfly. Lamps were lit without fire, glowing a pale yellow from some mystical spell. Flowers swayed in the wind, and townsfolk stood awestruck when the company passed by.

Finally a knight with a green cloak like unto what Morholt and Tor first wore approached. “Halt.”

They did as asked and the knight’s gaze fell upon Tor and Morholt. He looked amazed, and saddened. He had a duty to attend to.

“By order of King Roland, you are under arrest.” He drew his sword.

Tor nodded, dismounting. “Put your sword away, Sir Adrian. We bring the Lady Nyx, of the prophecies. The King will want to speak with her.”