4 Chapter 3

Tristan would never admit to panicking when he first woke up in a lot of pain with a stranger leaning over him. He knew instantly that he was in danger – out in the open, injured, and with a stranger leaning over him… he sat up, ignoring the agony in his side and leg.

"Stop!" she cried, "You'll hurt yourself!"

He ignored her and was almost fully upright when her hand shot out and checked him in the chest. It was then that Tristan realised he wasn't wearing very much. What had happened?!

"Who are you?!" he growled, glaring up at her – he first needed to establish if she was an immediate threat.

"Calm down," she said, everything about her was steady and seemingly controlled. Her impossibly clear grey eyes were just a little too much like a wolf's gaze. Both saw more than they ought to.

He took stock of his surroundings: it turned out that he was in a forest under a really shitty excuse for a tent; nearly naked, grievously wounded with an unknown and frankly bizarre girl caring for him. But he needed to know who she was, so he repeated the question.

"Who are you?" He said.

"Who are you?" she shot back, clearly just as confused about who he was. This was surprising – Tristan was used to being feared and respected automatically. He'd practically encouraged it.

"Tristan," he said, using the word as an implicit threat. The girl didn't so much as blink; had she truly no understanding of just who she was angering? If he had more strength, he'd have slapped her since clearly she was impudent as well as ignorant. But she simply took her hand off his chest and leaned back slightly.

"I am Natalya," she said, picking up the waterskin and holding it out to him. "Drink; you've been asleep since I found you." The name sounded utterly alien to him – maybe Latin or Greek, but certainly not one he'd heard before. Along with her attitude problem which seemed to be at least as bad as Vanora's – she was a strange girl altogether.

How long had he been unconscious? Were the others looking for him yet? There was no sign of the Roman patrol he'd been accompanying either. "When was that?" He asked, not touching the waterskin. Who knew what she'd put in it.

"Yesterday," she said and dropped the waterskin by his elbow, looking away. She seemed to be thinking about something else.

A breeze chilled Tristan's skin. "Where are my things?" he asked.

"I washed your clothes of blood, they're drying." She said, still not looking at him. She was looking in the direction of the clearing, as if waiting for something.

"Tagiytei?"

Her grey eyes flicked back to him at that. "What?"

"My horse," he said. Had he made it? Where was he?

"What colour was your horse?" she asked. Tristan noticed the roan tied to a tree on the other side of the camp. It was Kay's horse, Sarakos. Oh gods, had Kay been with them?

"Dappled grey," he said.

The girl shook her head, "I haven't seen any dappled horse."

"Since I'm the only one, I presume all the others are dead?" Tristan said, wearily preparing himself for the worst.

She nodded. "The wolves arrived last night, I watched over you rather than them."

Tristan resisted the urge to close his eyes and merely grunted dispassionately. "How good of you," he said sarcastically. "Did you see any other men like me?"

"No."

"Are you sure? He would have been a big man with red hair and a dark cloak."

"I'm sure; I scoured that entire place at least three times." She said, and now there was a hint of annoyance in her voice. Tristan thought about this. Had Kay escaped on Tagiytei?

The girl stood, and as she walked away Tristan noted she was wearing men's clothes – they were clearly too big for her skinny frame and were wet. Had she gotten soaked while washing his clothes? Or had she washed them too? The outsized tunic hung loosely over trousers that were also clearly too big for her, and they only served to make her look even more like a skinny boy. What he also noted was that she was wandering around barefoot – the right foot was bandaged and she favoured it slightly.

Tristan picked up the waterskin and uncapped it. After a cautious inspection, it turned out to be water after all and he drank while pondering the likelihood of a remarkably good-willed (if surly) soul rescuing him in the middle of nowhere, the water amplified the hollow feeling in his gut.

"Is there any food?" he asked.

"Not very much," the girl mumbled from behind her long hair as she stroked Sarakos' arching neck. "How far is it to civilisation?"

"Only a day's ride," Tristan said. She clearly wasn't familiar with this place – which only made the mystery more profound. Had she been dropped from the sky like one of Arthur's angels?

"Then we can set off as soon as you're ready," she said, rummaging in the makeshift bundles. She found the food and took it to him.

While he ate, Tristan pondered the ramifications of travelling with this girl: what if she was some sort of spy? By guiding her to the fort would he betray his brothers in arms? He resolved to kill her if she proved him right.