THE MORNING WAS ALWAYS SO CALM, like the calm that comes before the devastating destruction of the storm. It was soothing in a way, but the storm that was sure to come ahead drowned out any light or hope that one might have in the face of imminent danger. The very prospect of the storm grabbed Hope by the throat and strangled her before she could soothe those who would be caught in its path. Early morning sunlight is what woke the warrior with a sense of impending doom.

Sebidwen rose naturally, stretching her cramped limbs and casting an observant gaze around her camp in silent interest. Her eyes immediately fell onto the two sleeping forms across from her, which she almost immediately identified and remembered as Cerdan and Mordred: the Druids from the night before. Their presence brought her little comfort, especially since they were both asleep. Anything could have stumbled upon the camp while they slept and killed them or robbed them!

     She scowled but refrained from waking the pair. Her trust in Cerdan's ability to keep watch was obviously misplaced.

Deciding to lay there for just a moment longer and listen to the early rise of life in the mornings, Sebidwen turned her gaze to the sky. This was the silence in the world had that always brought her to her innermost thoughts, except... in this forest, there was no life to listen to. No birds, no squirrels, no native humans. There was only the breathing of her new companions and the quiet sound of Afagon heaving a sigh as he slept standing up. She listened to her own heartbeat, felt it pulse at the joint between her neck and shoulder.

She began to think about the chaos that had interrupted Telon, the panic that came with the Impalers and the fear that consumed all children, women, animals, and men. They'd even gotten to Sebidwen's nerves and she could never forgive herself for that weakness. Who was she if she couldn't hold her own emotions in check when it came to these bandits?

Screams rang across the town. Dark clouds rolled out over the entirety of the sky from just overhead, signaling the inevitable dark times that would be coming. It was as if the weather knew what was coming to town; it knew who was coming. Despair settled at the hearth of their homes, curling lazily like a cat beside a fire. It had found its home.

These emotions, stronger than she'd realized they were, sprang out like startled deer into Sebidwen's mind, reminding her what the Impalers meant to her town and to all the towns they'd terrorized on their way to Telon.

They stood for anger; for fear; for evil; and for demons. They embodied bitter resentment and hate. Their souls were the blackest of black, the darkest of dark, and the worst of the worst. Their hearts did not beat nor pump blood, their skin was deathly and their eyes were cold. They were the epitome of a single man's quest for oppression.

Murky anger flooded and drowned Sebidwen's senses, dragging her under the surface of the metaphorical water. She could barely breathe as she lay in her spot, fists clenching at her sides.

     Her mind continued to run rampant.

Kahese, the leader of men that celebrated and encouraged death, had killed Cadwadwyr and countless others. Friends, family members, brothers and sisters. He'd killed innocent people — women, children, brave warriors and even the elderly. He had crossed the line for the last time.

     She would make sure Kahese had met his match. This was not going to be tolerated.

Before Sebidwen could think another thought, a painful image flashed back into her mind; it enraged her, it shamed her, and it reminded her of what she had to replace. Of what she now had to prove, not only to herself but to her people. It effectively put down any thoughts Sebidwen was having of being the one to put an end to Kahese's reign of terror.

The beautiful blade broke in half, shattering at the middle and raining down upon the ground like droplets of shining silver rain. She fell back onto her ass, watching her destruction; watching her personal demon beat her into a shameful defeat. And that was the end of her confidence. It was the end of the Old Sebidwen, it was the beginning of the New.

She had to prove she wasn't weak, that she could save the town and the people within who couldn't stand up for themselves when their warriors were gone; people who had no chance against the multitudes of Impalers. Sebidwen didn't know how she was going to do it, but she knew she had to save them. With hope high in her chest, she relied on the thought that Uther would give her the resources she needed to accomplish this.

Despite this hope, Sebidwen set her jaw as she stared up at the barren grey sky above her, trying her best to tamp down on her anger and control it. Now was not the time to lose herself to the tide of her emotions. There would be time later to deal with them, but now she had to focus on getting to Camelot and deliberating with King Uther. It was the only thing she could focus on. There would be much palaver involved, she was sure, but if she could cut through it — they'd be saved.

Grimacing to herself as Sebidwen rose from her spot, she stretched until her spine popped quietly. She moved in silence among the small campsite, cleaning the area as fast and as soundlessly as she could. Kicking black dirt over the ashes of last night's fire, Sebidwen cursed under her breath as the dark ashes dusted over her boots. She took a step back from the fire pit and bumped into Cerdan's foot. Eyes widened for a moment, she stopped to see if Cerdan awoke, heart in her throat.

He didn't.

Around the time camp was cleared and she was rationing out food for their breakfast, Cerdan woke and rose to his feet slowly. Stretching his arms above his head, he looked wearily in Sebidwen's direction and blinked the sleepiness out of his eyes. For a moment, she considered firing a heated comment at him about his failure to stay away until the end of his watch but she bit down on the words at the tip of her tongue.

"You're awake," Sebidwen murmured instead, settling for remaining polite to the older man. She handed him another half of bread and the leather-skin of water which he accepted with a grateful bow of the head. "Have this before you go."

Cerdan raised the bread to his nose, inhaling the chalky smell of the flour.

     "We're coming with you," his voice remained light, reminding the warrior of their shared conversation prior to falling asleep. It was clear he was trying to come across as polite, like he didn't want to push Sebidwen into allowing the Druids to tag along with her, but she knew exactly where this was going.

Sebidwen frowned, her confusion still blatantly evident on her graceful features. It still didn't make sense as to why they would put themselves in Uther's path, regardless of who you trusted they could always betray you. Didn't Cerdan already know this? Was he truly naïve enough to believe his 'friend' would never betray him?

     "Remind me why you're going to Camelot." Sebidwen spoke with warning, wordlessly challenging the older Druid as she handed the newly awoken Mordred his rather meager breakfast.

Cerdan blinked, swallowing some water. "I told you last night, m'lady," he hummed, his voice sounding more like a rasp as he tore into his bread with an eagerness that Mordred reciprocated.

Grimacing, Sebidwen nodded. "Yes. Now tell me again." She spoke it as a command, standing above the Druids. She had suddenly remembered that she was a mighty and respected warrior and she ought to act like one. Sebidwen didn't care how harmless the duo seemed or how pure their intentions might actually be, sometimes you just knew you couldn't trust the people in this world. They were usually very disappointing.

     The number of times she'd been let down by those she was naïve enough to trust... well, she didn't want to think about that just now.

Mordred slowly raised his gaze to Sebidwen's, blinking as though he had been caught with his hand grabbing the sweets. His voice, as she was suspecting it would always be, remained mellow and subdued in the confines of her skull. Be calm, Feniramur. We have simple business to gather supplies, nothing more and nothing less. There was just something about the way he spoke, sending chills down her spine.

Sebidwen shivered against the coldness of his tone, feeling unsettled at the way Mordred seamlessly slid into her mind past her mental barriers with the grace of a cat and the conniving of a snake. How could he do such a feat? It was disturbing to think that her thoughts might not be her own in his presence, but she couldn't let him know what she felt regarding the matter. Not if the warrior had any hope of making it out of Ashmark alive; she still had no idea of what they were capable.

     Determined to keep some things to herself, Sebidwen forced her face to remain stoic and stony. Giving anything for Mordred or Cerdan to use against her, like her fear of these strangers, would be dangerous. She nodded once, turning away from the two as she spoke over her shoulder.

     "We leave in the next ten minutes, gather your things."

Cerdan's head slowly nodded his acceptance of the order while the aged man wiped breadcrumbs from his grey tunic, using the back of his hand. Mordred, meanwhile, had scarfed his share down as if he'd never eaten in his life and left his spot by his master to see Afagon. The boy approached him cautiously with careful steps so as to not startle the mighty beast.

Afagon was eating some sweet grass which had mysteriously sprung forward from the black dirt at his hooves, the light green stalks poking out from his lips as he took a large mouthful when Mordred came closer to him.

Raising his head to stare directly at Mordred, Afagon ceased his chewing. His ears pricked forward as he stuck out his nose to sniff at the small boy next to him. After a few seconds, Afagon's sides heaved heavily with a sigh and he promptly went back to chewing as though deeming Mordred merely 'acceptable.' If the horse could place even that small amount of trust in him, then maybe Sebidwen could too. Afagon tended to be a decent judge of character, she could only hope he was right about it this time.

Sebidwen kept an eye on Mordred with her horse, watching them from the corner of one eye while she monitored Cerdan's movements with the other. Something did not feel right about the boy, she didn't like him even if Afagon could tolerate his presence. He made Sebidwen feel great suspicion and hesitation. Anxiety. Skepticism. And because she so clearly didn't like the boy, Sebidwen knew she shouldn't be finding herself fond of Cerdan either (seeing as he was in charge of Mordred) but something felt kinder about the man.

Cerdan's movements, words, and face were all gentle and kind; the mark of a good, trustworthy man. Druid or not, Sebidwen had this indescribable feeling that he only had good intentions for their travels. She had gazed into his eyes last night and could only see a pure heart after her doubt had faded. Cerdan reminded Sebidwen of Bersufir Brese, in a way, with his patient fatherly manner.

     But when she looked into the boy's eyes...

The boy's eyes were blue. A bright, vibrant blue that reminded Sebidwen of the clear Carnwerian River, but she still didn't trust him and wouldn't. There was a shiftiness about him, an uncomely boldness that she knew she couldn't ever place trust in. Maybe part of this was due to Sebidwen's natural distrust of mysterious strangers she encountered in the forest but you couldn't deny the slickness of Mordred's actions.

He was like a weasel.

"Boy!" Sebidwen yelled at Mordred with a voice far sharper than she'd initially intended. Unfazed by her own tone, she narrowed her eyes when the Druid boy reached out to touch Afagon's side. "Are your things together?"

Mordred's head whipped around, nonplussed. He nodded and opened his mouth to speak for the first time. "Yes."

His voice was the same as it sounded in Sebidwen's head. If Cerdan was surprised that the boy had finally used his mouth instead of his mind, he did not show it to Sebidwen. She jerked her head up and down in a quick nod, striding over with large steps to stand behind Mordred's shoulder.

"Let us leave then," she told him in a quieter voice, strapping the saddlebags tighter onto Afagon's saddle. "This forest makes me uneasy."

Cerdan hummed in agreement. "Aye," he chimed in and beckoned to the boy. "I couldn't agree more, m'lady. There's something about the trees here, like they're watching us."

"I'm beginning to understand the feeling." Sebidwen kept her eyes trained steadily on her horse. The trees were ominous and begging for their attention, the bareness of the branches calling out a warning. She was getting the feeling they'd overstayed whatever welcome they might have had the night before.

Mordred took another longing look at Afagon before moving to stand by Cerdan's side. His movements remained noiseless and he didn't speak but grabbed his bag from Cerdan's hands, face remaining neutral. He did well in hiding his thoughts behind a mask of his own creation that Sebidwen couldn't seem to see through. It was solid, stoic, somber. He'd had practice.

"The boy can ride with me," Sebidwen offered in a nonchalant tone, the words dropping flat more like an order or command than anything else. She tightened Afagon's girth to, both, keep her hands busy and avoid looking at the Druids.

"Ahh, thank you!" Cerdan smiled kindly at Sebidwen's back. She could feel his eyes on her form and hear the smile in his voice as he ruffled Mordred's short hair. "Go to her now, do as she says." He instructed Mordred in a quieter tone, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in happiness.

Mordred nodded and bounded over to Sebidwen, remaining as quiet as he could be. He watched her mount the large steed flawlessly from the ground, eyes wide in what she could rightly deduce to be admiration. Sebidwen extended down an arm for Mordred to grab onto so she could whisk him on top of Afagon, seating the boy just behind her. He was small enough to fit where he wouldn't get in the way of Afagon's normal pace.

"Hold onto me," Sebidwen instructed. Almost immediately she could feel Mordred's small arms hold onto her sides, grip tight. She cast a look over at Cerdan, hoping to convey her sympathy with her eyes. "We can go slower if you like?" She offered in a softer tone, taking pity on the older man.

He had no horse and Afagon certainly wasn't meant for three people, let alone two. He would be forced to walk.

Sebidwen was conflicted. The essence of time was quickly fading (she could feel it slipping through her fingers with every moment the sun rose higher in the sky) and she had to get to Camelot immediately lest harm befall Telon or her father or her people while she was away. But, yet, her manners refused to allow her to leave Cerdan in the middle of Ashmark Forest, of all hellish places in the world. She was torn between the duty she felt to her family and her home and the duty she'd taken on as a warrior for the people.

It was the least she could do to allow Mordred onto Afagon, even if she severely distrusted him, but that was only because the boy was so small.

Cerdan sighed a little, turning his gaze from Sebidwen to the forest around them. "Well," he began. "You go as fast as you need to, okay? I'll find myself a quicker way to get to Camelot as long as you can promise to meet me outside the city. I'll take the boy from there."

"That can be arranged," she nodded and gathered the beast's reins in her hands. "I'm going to stop at Flint Hill. Be there." Sebidwen abruptly kicked Afagon forward, leaning over his neck as he took a fast canter past the black-marked and barren tree where Cainel had cast his curse upon Ashmark Forest. She did not look back.

────────

Afagon stumbled. He snorted loudly, wrenching his head back up to plow forward through the thick underbrush of the forest. Mordred's small grip tightened around Sebidwen's waist but he made no sound, resigning himself to silence. The boy merely held on tighter and pressed his cheek against Sebidwen's armored back. She couldn't imagine it was comfortable for him but the boy didn't complain.

     "Easy Affie," Sebidwen cooed to Afagon. She sat back a little to let the warhorse know he could slow down. "Flint Hill isn't much farther now."

     Why do we stop at Flint Hill?

     Sebidwen shivered quietly, still unnerved by the way Mordred's voice sounded in her head. It was misty this time, with an echoing to the tone. Completely different from his physical voice. "We'll stop there to get you back to Cerdan and then I can ride ahead to King Uther and hopefully get back to my people in time to help them."

     Mordred sat back a little, holding Sebidwen's waist loosely. Why are you going to talk to Uther? he questioned. Sebidwen could practically hear the frown on his face, his disapproval emanated into the air around them as if Sebidwen actually cared what this child thought of her and her actions. She didn't.

     "Uther can help me," she answered evasively. No matter what, Sebidwen didn't think she'd ever be able to fully trust Mordred. He reminded her of unpleasant things, things that cannot earn trust like a weasel or a rat, or more possibly a snake. Even if he grew into being the most harmless Druid alive, Mordred would never convince Sebidwen he was a good person. "He can help my whole town."

     A small snort came from behind her. He won't, you know, Mordred pointed out in a voice filled with glee. It was like he knew something she didn't, and she was beginning to get tired of that. Uther helps nobody but himself.

     "You don't know that!" Sebidwen retorted almost instantly, frowning as she casted a burning glare over her shoulder at the Druid. "You can't know that, you're just a boy! He will help me. There's no way he'll turn us to the wolves."

     Hmm... we shall see. Mordred fell silent for now, content with watching the forest trees slowly begin to thin out. The pair were getting closer to the field at the base of Flint Hill. The tall deciduous trees became smaller, stout cedar trees. Some were so small they resembled shrubs and bushes rather than trees. The undergrowth was thicker here at the edge of the tree-line, overgrown with brambles and weeds. There were occasional wildflowers of every color but those seemed to grow more on Flint Hill than in the field.

     Just beyond the hill would be Camelot.

     As a child, Sebidwen had occasionally visited the city on trips with her father. She distinctly remembered Palotine and Bersufir Brese taking her to meet Tom, the rather well-known blacksmith who resided in Camelot. She could remember it as clearly as the water of the Carnwerian River. The day had been nice where the sun was neither too hot nor too bright.

     Sebidwen craned her neck to look up at the tall people all around her. They were dressed much nicer than the merchants and wealthy families in Telon had ever been, making her own people look like peasants. Her father had cautioned her that they would dress this way, because they live so close to the castle where King Uther Pendragon and his son, Prince Arthur, live.

     A thin woman with a kind, gentle face walked past. She had on the most beautiful red dress that Sebidwen had ever laid eyes on. Then, there!—a man walked past her now, wearing such smart scholarly attire. Behind him, he toted a young boy who didn't look happy to be following him at all.

     This young boy had fair golden hair and the clearest blue eyes Sebidwen had ever seen, shining like sapphires in the early morning sun, turning his hair into the golden mane of a lion. His small stature was fearsome with the grumpy face he had but something about him screamed privilege. His arms were crossed over his chest as he protested loudly, uncaring of who heard him.

     "Gaius!" The boy was saying to the scholarly man as Sebidwen walked closely behind Palotine and Bersufir. "Why am I being forced to look at sick people?"

     Gaius, Sebidwen took special note of his greying hair as it was slowly turning white, barely turned to acknowledge the boy in his charge. "Because, Prince Arthur, one day this knowledge will help you. One day you might need to know how to treat a cold, or how to spot infection and disease. It could save a life, Arthur, maybe even yours."

     The prince! What a sight he was to behold; so golden and bright without the effort of trying to be. Sebidwen was walking closer by him, struggling to contain her excitement. She tried to flash Arthur a smile when they passed at the shoulder. He was taller than her and probably didn't notice as they walked by for he didn't even blink in Sebidwen's direction. Arthur was too busy rolling his eyes at Gaius.

     Sebidwen tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment that arose in her chest. She listened in on Arthur's next words, nearly stepping on the back of Palotine's boots in front of her.

     "That's stupid!" He protested. "When I'm older, I'm going to be a warrior! Not some bloody stupid physician."

     Palotine then pulled Sebidwen closer to him, glancing down at her. His face just barely masked an unpleasant look — was that disgust? Why was her father looking at the prince like that? Joining him in this pause, Bersufir bent down a little at the knee as they stopped in the middle of the street, looking into Sebidwen's eyes. He looked very serious so she made sure to pay rapt attention to his next words.

Bersufir was younger in this memory, with a portly belly and a coarse brown beard flecked with black and auburn hairs. His dark eyes were always a comforting sight, instantly drawing the girl's attention to him.

     "Don't be like that boy, Seb," Bersufir shook his head in disappointment as he watched Gaius and Arthur round the corner at the end of the street. She watched them go until they were completely out of sight. "Physicians are important. Without them, warriors wouldn't live to see the next day. Understand me? Everyone has a job for a reason."

     Sebidwen's eyes widened slowly. Her childlike innocence showed when she opened her mouth to protest. "But that was Prince Arthur! He—"

     "He's not a smart prince if he thinks like that," Palotine pitched in, sharing an unknown look with Bersufir. Sebidwen couldn't tell what it was but... if both Palotine and Bersufir agreed on something, then she supposed they must be right.

     "Exactly." Bersufir confirmed as he stood again, looking down his massive height at Sebidwen. "Understand that?"

     "I understand." Sebidwen smiled then, turning to walk with Palotine and Bersufir to meet Tom who, no doubt, would be happy to introduce himself and his daughter Guinevere to the little girl.

     Sebidwen smiled to herself at the memory. It wasn't really anything to smile about, but she remembered the great walls surrounding the castle, she remembered meeting Tom and Gwen, and being treated to seeing some of the finest swords in all the lands; swords that rivaled even Bersufir's best work they were so one-of-a-kind.

     Camelot was a place of hope. A place where even the darkest times couldn't last long, for the light always follows when there's someone who can lead the people out of it.

     Afagon was trotting up the hill now, grunting softly at the load on his back. Mordred's grip tightened when Sebidwen leaned forward, keeping low to Afagon's neck to relieve some of the stress from his back. "C'mon Afagon," Sebidwen urged with a whisper in his ear. "Just a little farther."

     Camelot is over the Hill? Mordred questioned in her mind, peeking eagerly over her shoulder as they came inevitably nearer to the top. Excitement bubbled in her stomach at the thought of the city.

     "Yes," Sebidwen nodded, pushing aside her doubts at Mordred's intentions when Afagon came closer to the top of the hill. She peeked over his ears, breath taken away at the city and village that bloomed before her eyes. The sight never ceased to take the air out of her and light a spark in her eye.

     The outlands of Camelot, where the working class lived, were rolling golden and green fields filled with flowers and grass and all manner of crop. The village near the walls of the castle had thatch-rooftops and the houses were closely interweaved with one another so one neighbor looking out their window could talk to the other. Cream colored paint adorned the sides of the houses, accented with browns, whites, and bright yellows. Smoke wafted into the skies from chimneys, kids were busy playing in the streets of Camelot, guards wearing the dragon's insignia were posted throughout the village and on top of the walls.

     The castle itself... the view left Sebidwen without a single word on her tongue. She had not remembered Camelot as being this glorious but she was ever so glad to see the life teeming here again. Perhaps Tom was still in Camelot? And Gwen! She could see him for a new sword and catch up with Gwen if the time allowed. Sebidwen imagined that Uther would probably want to have the audience the following day, as he would most likely be asleep by the time she could make it past the gates.

     Afagon pulled to a stop at the top of Flint Hill. His ears flicked forward, nostrils flaring as he took in the wafting scent of bread, grains, and cooking meat over fires. Scents that couldn't have possibly been smelled in the shadow of Flint Hill were suddenly revealed to them, causing their mouths to salivate with hunger. Much time had passed on their way to the hill but neither was willing to stop and eat, until now.

     Mordred took a deep breath, breathing in slowly and releasing even slower. The bread smells amazing, he remarked, careless if Sebidwen responded to him. And it did smell amazing, she noticed.

     "It does," she hummed in agreement. "Have you ever been to Camelot before, Mordred?"

     Never. Mordred answered, glancing up at Sebidwen, catching her eyes with his. And I never wanted to come in the first place but yet here we are.

     Sebidwen sighed softly, raising her gaze back to the people walking throughout the streets so far away from them. Their figures were minuscule, like little ants milling around in a glass container fit for a king to stare at for his entertainment. "Cerdan has his reasons, hopefully you can understand them."

     I understand them. He answered.

     "Then why do you sound so upset about them?" Sebidwen reached a hand down to absentmindedly pet her horse.

     Mordred didn't answer her this time, the silence stretching the space between them. She didn't mind at all. Instead, the boy posed a question. Do you leave me here and ride ahead now?

     "No," Sebidwen shook her head. "We'll wait for Cerdan and then I'll take my leave and ride ahead. I'll wish you the best of luck on your quest and you'll never have to see me again. Sound fair enough?"

     I guess so. Something about Mordred's voice gave Sebidwen the telltale chills she constantly found herself experiencing in his presence. She was glad he would soon be gone and out of her mind, for good. She could only hope that nothing bad would happen anywhere this boy was concerned. Something about him didn't bode well.