She nodded, sharply, and went back into the room, letting the door close. She leaned back against it for a brief moment before all but crawling into the bed. The knowledge that she was completely safe, that she had made it to Camelot and survived, slowly sank in, and she curled up into a ball and just shook with relief for a long time.
Sleep overtook her at some point, and in her dream she relived the attack. Half a dozen men, ill-kempt but well-armed, bursting out of the underbrush and surrounding her. Her horse rearing, frightened, as someone waved a torch under its nose. Unable to draw her daggers, with hands full of reins, and unable to fix her mind on more than one attacker at a time. One, only one, going up in flames, and then someone grabbing her leg and dragging, and the fire spun out of control, sparks spitting everywhere but to no avail.
Summer woke up screaming.
Mordred took a step back as the door was closed, and he stood there for a moment with a slightly strangled looking expression on his face. He didn’t feel comfortable with allowing her to come with them; he, after all, would have preferred to head out with the knights and take out the threat before letting her near the forest at all.
With a light sigh, Mordred then turned his back upon the room and headed to his own chambers. If they were going to be busy tomorrow, an early night was always the best bet.He fell asleep quite early, yet because of the fact he slept only lightly, the scream caused him to wake. It was a sudden thing that snapped him out of whatever dream he was having. He was disorientated, and unsure that he had heard it or imagined it; so for the moment, he stayed put.
Disoriented, both by the nightmare and the unfamiliar room, she stumbled out of the room, arms wrapped tight about her shoulders and shivering. One of the torches she passed flared up, and she shrieked again, flinching back and huddling against the wall.