SEBIDWEN ROSE IN THE LATE MORNING when the sun was well above the trees, shining down at her like a beautiful string of golden warmth which was happy to see her rise from her slumber. Without thinking about it, she quickly made herself a small fire with which to boil water for Afagon's morning mash. The warhorse preferred his mashes compared to dry oats, they hydrated him and made the chewing go easier. As he was getting on in his years, this was becoming more and more important for his health.

Afagon stared at her from the other side of their campsite, morosely chewing some sweet grass while he waited patiently. He knew what was coming. By this point, he expected it, and after her own breakfast, Sebidwen finally packed up their food into the saddlebags again and kicked dirt over the fire. She mounted Afagon at once, setting a quick pace and listening to the songbirds sing all around them.

We slept far too long, she thought to herself. That can't happen again unless we want to be behind schedule.

Bending over the dapple's mane as his powerful legs came forward to his chest to pick a path among the cluttered forest floor, they passed over a fallen log ripe with insects and termites, a patch of mushrooms at the base of a large oak, and a white rabbit bouncing along peacefully next to the narrow path. It darted away on quick little legs when Afagon drew nearer, mightily shaking the ground beneath his shod hooves the way a giant does without noticing how it affects the little people.

The pair went on through the forest until midday to stop for a brief meal while hunger gnawed at the sacks of their stomachs. Sebidwen treated herself to a hard chunk of bread while Afagon munched happily on stalks of grass and sugar cubes leftover from Sebidwen's pockets, ones she'd forgotten to take out. Growing thirsty after their food, Sebidwen led the horse to the nearby river to satiate their dry throats with the cool, clear water of an untouched source that could only offer satisfaction to them.

Sebidwen bent down on her knees in the mud at the bank of the river. She didn't care about the grime the way most women she knew would; instead, she thrust her hands into the chilly water and scooped handfuls of it into her mouth repeatedly. The water was refreshing, it was good. She never remembered having water as pure as this — and that was saying something considering where it was coming from.

     While Afagon bent his head down to drink Sebidwen glanced up to see a young child watching them from across the river, he couldn't have been older than ten years of age. The sun blinded Sebidwen as she squinted her eyes to get a better look at the boy. It appeared that he was just... staring. His eyes were black and empty, staring and staring into Sebidwen's soul, sending chills down her spine. She found herself getting lost, actively being pulled deeper and deeper into an unforgivable abyss of darkness and hatred until —

The child suddenly glanced behind him at an unknown noise, then walked away slowly into the forest on the other side of the river without another glance or acknowledgement in her direction. Sebidwen's uneasiness grew tenfold as she released a deep breath the warrior wasn't aware she'd been holding. Something was off. Whether it be about the child or what could possibly command him, she did not know.

She frowned deeply and was surprised her voice didn't waver when the courage to speak found her on her knees in the mud.

"You, child! Come back here!" Sebidwen called out loudly, startling Afagon into a nervous nicker beside her, head darting up at the sudden noise. The whites of his eyes showed as the horse tossed his head and glanced around for the thing that could possibly make his master shout.

"Sorry Affie," she apologized to him quietly, listening and watching for the child across the river. Sebidwen had only gotten the briefest of glances at him, but recalled his dark hair and fair skin. Beyond this and the age she wasn't sure where the boy could have come from. Perhaps he was a traveling nobleman's son? Or a young serving boy out with his master?

     Regardless of who he was, Sebidwen had to continue moving. Delays could not be accepted when she and Afagon only had so much time to complete their mission.

Shrugging her narrow shoulders, Sebidwen shook her head and stood from the mud, wiping her grimy, mud-stained hands on the front of her trousers. She cast a glance back at the tree line where the boy had disappeared and waited for a beat, watching to see if he would reappear or give some indication that what she had seen wasn't a trick of the eyes.

     Move on, he's not coming back.

     Sebidwen mounted again and set off downriver for Camelot. The path alongside the Carnwerian was a straight shot to the promised city from where Sebidwen and Afagon now stood. As long as they followed the bends and the curves perfectly, they'd reach the base of Flint Hill where they could ascend and adjust their path. After that day there would be one more full day of travel and during the next, Sebidwen hoped to arrive in Camelot by late midday when the streets would not be so crowded. However, Sebidwen allowed Afagon to walk for the moment while she admired their surroundings.

The trees were tall and green, the grass was long and grew thick in every area, and the flowers grew in the oddest of places. Sebidwen even saw a beautiful white flower with soft petals growing from a tree stump. She had been tempted to pick it but had resisted, feeling that such natural beauty should be left in its natural world, where it belonged.

This part of the woods where they walked was plentiful and booming with lively prey like rabbits and squirrels to hunt, which was tempting enough to make Sebidwen stop and gather a small rabbit for her dinner that night. She was successful with her kill and had been sure to gratefully murmur thanks to the rabbit for giving his life so she could go on. Sebidwen tied string around the back paws of the rabbit and strung him up from Afagon's saddle while they continued on their journey.

When nightfall was becoming more and more imminent, Sebidwen recognized the part of the woods they were at to be mostly dead and bleak. Their scenery had steadily changed the further they followed the Carnwerian and Sebidwen had failed to notice how the trunks of the trees turned into an ashy grey, their branches become steadily more bare; no nests were nestled safely in the treetops, not even a squirrel dared make his home here. No prey lived in the vicinity and no flowers grew from this hallowed ground. Only mushrooms and nasty, harmful brambles thrived here all twisted in each other's embrace and around the trunks of the barren trees so they squeezed the life out of them.

Sebidwen was in Ashmark Forest. Among locals, it was known as a cursed place. All peasants and villagers alike of any town in Camelot's borders knew the stories about this dark wood, if they had any sense then they collectively stayed away. Ashmark Forest was said to be dead and abandoned because all of its keepers, some mysterious Druids from the wars against magic many years ago, had been struck down by King Uther and his army.

The stories differed in many ways but they all converged into similar details — when the fall of the Greenmark Druid Council was inevitable, the last remaining Druid, Cainel, had placed a curse upon the wood so none would ever live within the trees or gain from the once-plentiful land ever again as a sort of... reminder. And the curse had worked. Ashmark Forest remained uninhabitable and it gave most commonfolk the creeps (those with sense). The story rang true and would, unless broken.

Sebidwen shuddered, remembering what her Father had said about Cainel's last curse.

"Please! Tell me the story of Cainel again, Father!" A young Sebidwen begged an infinitely younger and softer-faced Palotine, her hands clasped together in a pleading gesture. She was wanting a decent bedtime story instead of the normal one he'd always told about sheep. Now was the time for something substantial; something forbidden and exciting.

Palotine turned serious, face drawn tight in anxiety as he read between the lines. He knew exactly what Sebidwen was asking for. "You know telling tales like those are forbidden, Seb," he said solemnly, tucking her covers around her, pulling them up to her chin. He reached down and ruffled the girl's dark hair in the way only a father could, with love and admiration aplenty. There was nothing and no one that Palotine loved more than his darling daughter.

Sebidwen places her palms together in a pleading motion under her thick blanket, still silently begging for the forbidden story with hopeful eyes and an innocent face. In the soft candlelight, she looked exactly like her mother did as a child. The resemblance was startling and it made her father double-take before nodding, knowing his answer before he voiced it.

Palotine sighed deeply, running his fingers through Sebidwen's feather-soft hair in a smooth manner. He encountered a tangle and undid it with a gentleness not often seen in the town's leader. "Okay, little one, the story of Cainel, right?" He looked to Sebidwen for confirmation. "Cainel," he began in a low pitch, his storytelling voice, and talked slowly. "Was a powerful and mighty Druid who lived in a beautifully lush forest, Greenmark Forest to be exact—"

"But today the forest is called Ashmark Forest!" Sebidwen interrupted joyously, clapping her hands together with excitement. Her happiness at being indulged (something Palotine often did) bubbled over and filled the air around the pair. She sank further into her covers, staring up at her father with rapt attention.

Palotine pretended to raise a brow sternly, "I thought you wanted a story?" He asked good-naturedly, hiding his smile.

"Yes, Father, I apologize. I love this story!" Sebidwen said quietly, settling down in her bed again. She spoke the last statement to herself with glee, dimples appearing on her cheeks as she smiled; satisfied with the promise of a story.

Palotine nodded, taking up his storytelling voice once again. "You're correct, Ashmark Forest was once called Greenmark Forest but Cainel is the one that changed it for forever. You see, King Uther of Camelot was in a war with magic; a war that was far, far too personal." He explained, looking out Sebidwen's window for a moment. Palotine became silent, his mind taking him somewhere far so he wasn't sitting beside his daughter anymore. Everything else faded away as the sounds of battle rang in his ears, they were sounds of a battle he had to witness and participate in.

     It was gruesome to think about. Part of Palotine's reluctance in telling the story was his own memories regarding the battle. They haunted him even when he wanted to escape and live his life with his dead wife's only daughter. Her voice broke through his reverie, saving him from himself.

"Father?"

     He cleared his throat, focusing on Sebidwen again.

"Uther wanted all Druids and all magic out of his kingdom... so he set out to destroy them and the wickedness they presented to his people. The only real reason he attacked the Druids of Greenmark was because they decided to fight back against Uther. They wanted to end his tyranny and he would not have their resistance." Palotine paused for the purposes of telling a story. "So Cainel, the leader of those Druids, decided to have a plan for when Uther came for him and his people. Unfortunately, his plan never did work, it—"

"What was his plan, Father?" Sebidwen asked eagerly, face full of innocence and pureness. How could he possibly tell her about mass genocide? Maybe it was time she knew... she was getting older every day but still, if he could save her innocence just awhile longer, shouldn't he? That was what a good father would do, wasn't it? He wished his wife could guide him.

"His plan..." Palotine began quietly, continuing to debate with himself over telling his daughter or not telling his daughter. He settled for somewhere in the middle. "His plan was to use the combined might of the Druids' magic to annihilate Uther's army."

Not entirely true but not false either.

"Well how come he never did that? He could've have won soooo easily!" Sebidwen exclaimed with a loud voice, pointing a finger almost accusingly at no one as she wondered about the unanswerable question. Her question was enough to put a smile on Palotine's face.

"Well, Seb, if he had — where would we be now?" Palotine shrugged. "Everything happens for a reason. No one knows why Cainel didn't go through with his original plan. I personally suspect that Cainel's wife, Rivera, had her hand to play in this. After all, the Druids do practice peace, little one. Instead of fighting, Cainel tried to strike a truce with Uther and the Knights of Camelot... it was a bright and sunny day when Uther's army marched right up to the entrance of Greenmark, where they were met with surprised, and woefully unprepared, Druids."

"What happened next?" Her voice was eager as the question tumbled out without a moment's pause, a stifling yawn leaving her lips as the bed grew immensely more comfortable. She knew the story but it was her job to always prompt the ending from Palotine, who always paused at the same place.

Palotine ran a hand over his daughter's hair, smiling a little to himself. He smiled at her though the rest of the story was anything but happy. "They talked, and King Uther came to the conclusion that peace with the Druids was impossible, even though it could have been attainable with work..." he paused, sighing so gently it was almost not heard. "So the armies fought all day and all night. Magic versus steel and it came down to Uther and his army verses Cainel alone with his apprentice, Rivallon. Old, tired Cainel tells Rivallon, 'Go, young apprentice, save yourself and our mighty race!' but Rivallon, ever loyal to his mentor, told him he wished to stay. In the end, Cainel—"

"Made Rivallon disappear into a bright white light!" Sebidwen interrupted for the last time, giggling quietly and making obscure motions with her hands as she spoke as if she could somehow imitate the light that had swallowed the Druid. Her eyes were growing heavier and heavier as her father spoke the forbidden tale in soft words.

Laughing, Palotine nodded. "Yes, Seb! Rivallon disappeared and no one ever saw him after that day; that exact moment. Some say, over the years, that they have seen either his ghost or his living flesh!" Palotine's eyes widened for effect, amused with his daughter's reactions. "Cainel was alone and Uther eventually struck him a fatal blow, but it was Cainel's final words that cursed the poor forest. He said, for all to hear, 'With my death shall come days of darkness over this land, this cursed place will fight against inhabitation until Rivallon returns to this forest with the Savior! Only then can this wood grow and prosper once more. Kill me if you must but you will never be rid of me. Magic will still flow here, just not the kind you seek.'"

Eyes finally fluttering closed, Sebidwen desperately listened to Palotine's quickly fading voice.

"And ever since then, Greenmark Forest died. At first it was just a little bit... animals left for foreign lands and the trees lost their leaves that would never return. Then it was drastic — any traveler that happens upon it has either disappeared or told tales of horror and monstrosities within. No one ever goes into there unless it is dire. Understand that, Seb? Only go there in an emergency, or your fate shall be cut short. I love you, sweet child..."

The little girl in her memories was asleep.

Sebidwen pulled Afagon to a slow halt, staring ahead of her where a tree of the blackest wood, of the barest branches, and of deep claw marks stood in the center of a small clearing; no leaves and no recent signs of habitation. All the stories had one unchallenged detail: the place where Cainel had been struck down was replaced with a tree as black as night and as bare as winter. It made grown men shiver, women cry, and babies die. It was haunted. The wood itself was enough to make anyone want to be overcome with tears.

Cainel died here, Sebidwen thought in shock. The stories must be true! How can they not be? He died and the evidence is plain to see.

Afagon neighed nervously and broke Sebidwen free of her mind, skittering to the side a little while still moving forward. The beast only kept going because he trusted Sebidwen but... he also wanted to get away from this clearing more than anything in the whole world. It made Afagon uneasy and Sebidwen couldn't disagree with that, she was feeling chills along her spine and the fine hairs of her arms stood on their ends. Nevertheless, she had to be a voice of reason for the horse; something for him to anchor to until dawn could reclaim their journey and allow them leeway forward.

"It's all right Afagon, we only have to stay here for one night," she promised, reaching down to pat his neck lovingly with a gentle, gloved hand. "One night."

After making sure their camp for the night was somewhat fortified with small barriers and makeshift spears (meant to be blocking out any potential enemies), Sebidwen kept an almost constant vigil through the darkness while watching for monsters or any cursed thing to chase her out of Ashmark. She was as prepared as she could be for the worst event, though she did sorely wish she had something to keep her hands busy with.

It was close to midnight when the moon was at its zenith, and when Sebidwen heard a crackling of branches underfoot in the brush and dead sticks some several yards away from her campsite. Afagon's head shot straight up like a cobra to look into the darkness. He pricked his ears forward, muscles in his body twitching. The beast was ready to bolt, to fight, to neigh and toss his head at any provocation or sign of danger. A single word from Sebidwen and Afagon could lash out with his forehooves.

Unsheathing a small silver dagger at her right boot, Sebidwen cursed herself for not grabbing a new sword from home or from Telon's best blacksmith, Bersufir Brese, who was also a close family friend to Sebidwen. His swords were some of the finest in the kingdom aside from Tom's beautiful artistry in Camelot which left the two blacksmiths unsurpassable in skill. Bersufir had been the maker of Sebidwen's original sword, the one which cracked under Kahese's mighty swing and rained upon the ground beneath her boots.

     Aside from Bersufir's work, the portly man was like another father to Sebidwen. He and his God-loving wife, Anni, had always found the kindness in their hearts to take care of Sebidwen when Palotine struggled or found himself failing in providing the simple pleasures of life for his kin.

Right around the time Sebidwen started getting old enough to think more independently, Palotine had the hardest time with making sure his daughter was fed, bathed, and asleep at a decent time so as to make sure she wouldn't be worn out during their training during the days. This is where Anni Brese stepped in like the mother Sebidwen never had the pleasure of experiencing a relationship with. Anni was akin to Nessa in the girl's eyes as she grew up: always a guiding hand, always with a gentle voice, always with the right wisdom and advice the girl needed to survive the world.

     The sound of imminent approach became louder. Crouching low to the ground, Sebidwen prepared herself for an attack, for a monster — anything! Her warrior's instinct shouted in preparation, her primal instinct growled in fear. The mind was either your greatest asset or your worst enemy, it could bring you high or level you low. Her heart was pounding in her chest, beating against her ribcage like the way it did when fear shot through her.

     It wasn't normal for Sebidwen to be so scared but given her surroundings (the cursed wood, agh!) she could not help but let her mind run wild with the possibilities of the monsters that could run her through.

A small foot broke through the darkness into the soft glow of light from Sebidwen's campfire and out stepped the young boy she had seen across the Carnwerian River earlier that day. His brilliant blue eyes pinned her in place like a tack as he approached her camp, a tall man with dark hair just behind him. It wasn't the best intrusion she could've expected but it certainly wasn't the worst. At least no beast would be snacking on her tonight. Sebidwen would take these two strangers over a monster any day.

"Who are you?" Sebidwen called out, cautiously rising on the balls of her feet. Afagon looked at the newcomers closely, pinning his ears back after a moment of inspection. Their strange presence was unnerving even to her horse. Who ambles around in a cursed forest in the dark unless there is something wrong with you? She could only wonder what business they had in Ashmark and how they had crossed the river.

The boy uttered not a word as he advanced upon her camp in complete silence, making his way closer towards the warmth the fire offered. His master, it seemed that is who the man was for the pair looked nothing alike with contrasting features and the older man couldn't be his father with the wary way he watched the boy's movements, answered for them both.

     "We are simple Druids who have come to seek shelter while we travel to Camelot." He stepped closer, too, but maintained a comfortable distance between himself and Sebidwen. She was more than happy to have space between them. "We saw your fire and decided to come over... Mordred here tells me he saw you across the Carnwerian today. Is this true?" The man asked his question gently, not demanding or commanding the answer, just asking as if they were having a casual conversation after meeting in a busy city street.

She had expected something entirely different, her mind running with everything from monsters to murderers, but was glad to be proven wrong.

Sebidwen sheathed her silver dagger again, bending down for only a moment. The warrior was eager to keep her eyes on the traveling pair until she knew more about them and their intentions. "Aye, sir, it is true. I called out to him but he spoke not a word to me." Sebidwen paused to stare at the boy in quiet interest. "His name is Mordred?"

     Knowing the boy's name brought some peace of mind to Sebidwen's suspicious nature. Names were always said to hold power over the subject of which you were speaking to. Now she knew who she was dealing with, in a sense. Maybe his dark eyes were nothing more than an inherited trait from his parents, maybe there wasn't evil lurking beneath the surface, maybe her natural suspicions were simply too feral in this instance.

"Yes." The man answered simply, lowering the hood of Mordred's cloak down to reveal a full head of straight black hair which was growing long. "Sit, boy," he ordered Mordred with a stern voice, turning to face Sebidwen, smiling as he took his own self-proclaimed seat on a sturdy log Sebidwen had dragged over to camp long before she ever knew she'd be having this strange company.

"You said you are Druids? Why are you going to Camelot, of all places?" Sebidwen inquired curiously in a stern voice, feeling a certain duty to her kingdom to make sure there were no ill intentions of these traveling Druids.

     Their presence so close to King Uther who would, no doubt, sooner have them executed than let them go, was unsettling. Sebidwen also knew in the back of her mind that it was illegal to assist these Druids in any way, but she had to know the truth; or their version of it. She, at the very least in service to the Royal Crown, had to keep them close to her so she could monitor them. They could stay for now.

The older man nodded slowly, tilting his head in Sebidwen's direction. "Yes, and our intentions are to gather some much-needed supplies from a merchant in Camelot for our people to the South. We must be careful..." the Druid warned, rubbing his hands together to create warmth and take the biting edge of the cold out of his hands.

     "Why not go to a different merchant? Why the one in Camelot?" Sebidwen narrowed her eyes. This wasn't making sense. Why would they risk putting themselves under Uther's gaze when there were plenty of merchants in a number of other places that would gladly take their business without alerting the king of their presence? Just how far would they push the boundaries?

     "He is a friend." The man explained. "He has always helped us when we have needed it, without question. We trust him."

"Hmm." Sebidwen hummed under her breath, walking around the other side of the fire to be nearer to Afagon. The horse was more relaxed now that Sebidwen's weapon was put away and she was speaking in a relaxed tone. He was often sensitive to the emotions of those around him. "What do you know of these woods, Druid?" She asked quietly, almost desperate to know if Cainel's curse rang with truth. If there was anyone who could confirm the legends, it would have to be a Druid.

He shrugged. "As much as you do, I suppose."

Mordred raised his gaze to Sebidwen's, simply watching her and the emotions she struggled to control in her expressions. His eyes pinned her on the spot once again, and Sebidwen felt tingles of uneasiness go down her spine. They just stared at each other for a moment while the older man extended his hands over the fire quietly. He basked in the warmth of it.

"Come now," Sebidwen broke the silence. "You must know more? Everything I've heard has been the accumulation of folktales and hearsay."

"And that rings true for us, too."

"Well," she accepted the answer for now. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Sebidwen was offering hospitality not out of the kindness of her heart but out of the guise of keeping these Druids under her care until they could be determined as non-threatening. She couldn't draw her eyes away from Mordred's for another moment before she tore herself away to grab extra supplies from her pack. She had little to begin with but this was a chance to interrogate them further. Besides, Sebidwen could always hunt once she left Ashmark.

Mordred glanced at his mentor silently, then returned his eyes to Sebidwen's form and slowly nodded, once.

Yes, Feniramur.

A voice rang throughout Sebidwen's mind. She glanced up, severely startled. It was a young, sweet-sounding voice full of the innocence of childhood. Where did it come from? Who could have said that?

"What did you say?" She asked her company quickly, blinking rapidly. Sebidwen rested her calloused fingertips on the hilt of her sheathed knife at her boot, ready to arm herself in a moment's notice. Not even her thoughts were hers alone anymore... what was this insanity? Was this the doing of the forest? Was it finally getting to her? Perhaps this is what Palotine was always warning her about!

I said yes, the voice came back and Sebidwen knew it must be the young boy, Mordred. She didn't know how she knew, but she just knew. Sebidwen narrowed her eyes at him accusingly, keeping her hand at her boot. Mordred simply tilted his head in response and looked into her eyes, waiting.

You... You called me Feniramur, why? That's not my name! Sebidwen thought back slowly, concentrating hard on projecting her thoughts across the fire to Mordred. She wasn't sure if it would work but if her thoughts no longer belonged to her, then she didn't know what to do. She'd never been trained for this, never even heard of this happening before.

Mordred blinked at her from across the fire, warming his hands. He looked into the flames now. That is your name, among my people, he replied slowly, explaining to her in a gentle, soft-spoken voice. Something about its quality was alluring and mysterious. If Sebidwen didn't remember the feeling she'd gotten when looking into his eyes from across the Carnwerian, she might have begun to trust him.

Alas, she did remember.

What does that mean? Sebidwen thought to herself, only to be startled by Mordred's response.

A prophecy has been written of you. Mordred whispered inside her mind quietly, smiling a little at her, knowing he'd surprised the warrior with his intrusion into her head. Even her personal thoughts weren't safe around him anymore. With both of your names, Sebidwen.

Sebidwen tilted her head to the side, finally releasing her hand from the hilt of her knife and grabbing a hunk of tacky bread to hand to Mordred and his unnamed master. She offered the bread with a confused face at Mordred's words and additionally passed a canteen of water over the fire to his master. How do you know of my real name? I have not yet introduced myself.

Druids know a lot... Mordred answered as he graciously accepted the food. He tore the hunk in half, keeping one for himself and handing the other to his master before beginning to eat quickly. Thank you, Feniramur.

Puzzled, Sebidwen furrowed her eyebrows together and watched the young boy consume the food given to him as though he might never eat again. "You're welcome, Mordred," Sebidwen whispered quietly, turning to his mentor. "You communicate telepathically?" She inquired curiously, sitting on the edge of the log. The fire burned hot against her shins but she didn't care right now. She wanted answers. She needed them.

His mentor looked up from his portion of bread, nodding. "It is a form of communication, yes. Mordred mostly speaks this way, as the boy does not like to use his tongue." The mentor sighed heavily, sounding exhausted, but continued to eat. His pace was much slower than Mordred's, Sebidwen noticed. "How do you know of our telepathy?"

"I... I read it in a book once," Sebidwen dodged the question uneasily. "Who are you?" She pressed eagerly, blinking in muddled confusion. He had yet to speak his name. If they were to stay in her company, they had to lay all their cards onto the table so she could keep them in line. Names equaled power.

"My name is Cerdan," he confided in a soft voice, looking down at the leather-skin canteen of water. He sipped from it noiselessly.

Sebidwen sat back, nodding slowly. "Yes, well... I am Sebidwen Andrelles of Telon." She returned the courtesy Cerdan and Mordred had given by telling him her identity. They may already know her name, but it was still polite to introduce yourself. Anni had always forced Sebidwen to be polite, reminding her that many people nowadays days forget their manners.

Cerdan nodded, "It is nice to meet you, but to us... you are known as Feniramur, young one."

The woman glanced at Mordred, who was looking down at his food in silent contemplation. "Yes I know, Mordred told me," she commented testily, gathering her things to sleep. It was getting late. There was still much traveling to be done before Sebidwen would reach Camelot, if she was even a moment late it could mean the end of Telon.

"Will you be here when I wake?"

"Perhaps..." Cerdan answered softly, turning to look at Mordred. "Get some rest little one." He said this more as a suggestion instead of an order this time, ruffling Mordred's dark hair with a gentle smile. Maybe they were closer than Sebidwen had initially perceived.

Mordred grinned, stomach full and thirst gone. He went to lay down close to the fire, using his few belongings as a pillow and his cloak as a blanket. Meanwhile, Cerdan simply shifted on the log and threw a few dead branches onto the fire. It crackled and popped eagerly, consuming the wood with a vengeance.

"I'll take first watch," Cerdan offered, looking over to Sebidwen for confirmation. "This forest can't be trusted." Not a question, just a statement she could contest with if she found herself untrusting, which she was. However, she was eased by the look in Cerdan's eyes and found herself confident that these Druids wouldn't rob her in her sleep. A wave of exhaustion was tugging at her body and dragging her down, and she could already tell she was more sluggish than she'd been before the startling presence of her new company.

"If you wish..." Sebidwen nodded, stifling a yawn that could be seen as impolite. "I shall see you both in the morn."