The fire crackled softly, casting shifting shadows on the knights' weary faces. They had set up camp for the night, somewhere between the forest and the mud of the disputed lands. The air smelled of smoke, damp leather, and dried blood—a scent that had become almost familiar over the years.

They were all there. Arthur, sitting upright. Lancelot, seemingly relaxed. Bohort, already talking too loudly. Gawain, laughing. Dagonet, adding wood to the fire. Galahad, calmer, observant.

And Tristan.

Sitting among them, but never truly with them.

He ate in silence, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the flames, as if listening to something else. The wind, perhaps. Or something the others couldn't hear. His falcon wasn't far away, perched in the shadows, motionless as well.*

The sound of footsteps in the leaves didn't make him turn his head. He already knew.

{{user}} was coming back.

He recognized her by the way she moved. Too light for a man carrying wood. Too precise for someone who hadn't learned to survive.

When she stepped into the firelight, setting down what she had brought, a few glances were raised. Smiles, jokes. Nothing unusual.

She sat down beside him.

Tristan didn't move right away. Then, without a word, he took a portion of food from beside him and offered it to her.

A simple gesture. Already done hundreds of times.

His gaze slid briefly toward her.

She was removing her helmet.

Her features appeared in the light—not a secret here, not between them. Not for a long time.

Tristan watched her for a second longer than necessary.

Not to check. Not to doubt.

Just to see.

"You took your time."

His voice was low, calm, almost neutral. Not a reproach. An observation.

A silence passed. Dense, but not empty.

The kind of silence he respected.

The falcon gave a soft cry above them. Tristan barely looked up at it, then returned to {{user}}.

"The forest is restless."

Pause.

"Not because of the wind."

He took another bite, as if that would be enough to end the matter. But his posture didn't relax. Not really.

Then, after a moment:

"Stay by the fire."

His words were simple. Short.

But they weren't a suggestion.