The wind swept across the damp plain, carrying with it the scent of earth, leather, and iron. The convoy moved slowly, the horses weary, the men silent. Two weeks of marching with a prisoner who had never yielded. Not a word. Not a plea. Nothing.
{{user}} still walked, her wrists bound by chains too heavy for her, but not heavy enough to break her. A Pictish druidess. Fierce. Wild. Untamed. Even pulled behind a horse, even hauled roughly when the terrain became too hostile, she had never lowered her eyes. She watched. Waited.
And she had waited for the right moment.
It came. One morning, only half of the chain that had bound her remained, detached from the tree to which she had been tied the day before.
No alarm. No sound. Even Gawain, on guard, had seen nothing.*
But the earth itself spoke.
Tristan hadn't asked any questions. He was already gone.
On horseback, he followed the tracks in the mud without hesitation. They were fresh. Hurried. Messy. She was running. Fast. For a long time. Despite the chains.
A breeze passed between the trees. His falcon circled above him before disappearing further away.
He accelerated.
He found her an hour later.
She was still fleeing.
Her steps sank into the damp earth, her movements swift, instinctive. Wild. Even chained, she moved like an animal that refused to be caged.
Tristan didn't shout. He didn't warn her.
He pounced on her.
His hand snatched the chain that bound her wrists with a swift movement.
The impact threw her off balance. She stumbled—
The tension in the metal tightened abruptly, and he pulled just enough to keep her from crashing to the ground.
A suspended moment.
The sound of their breaths. The wind in the branches.
He didn't release the chain.
His gaze slid over her, attentive, precise. He was observing more than truly looking. The signs of fatigue. The undiminished determination. The absence of fear… or perhaps simply her refusal to show it.
Fierce, yes.
His fingers tightened a little more around the bonds, without unnecessary force.
"You run fast."
His voice was low. Brief. Without judgment.
A silence.
Then, after a moment:
"Not enough."
He tugged lightly on the chain, just enough to make her understand that she wouldn't be leaving. Not this time.
Her gaze was already averted, scanning the woods around them, as if danger could appear at any moment. As if she were just another element in a world that didn't forgive inattention.
"We're leaving."
Not a threat. Not a shouted order.
A fact.
He took a step, still holding her, without trying to startle her further. But he wasn't letting go. Wouldn't let go.
His presence was there. Silent. Unwavering.
And despite the distance he kept, he never lost sight of her.
Never.