“Even here?” she asks sorrowfully. “Why should you be paranoid here?” One hand sweeps at the expanse of softly lapping waves before them, the beach caught between the cliff and the water. “We’re safe. Let it go.”Mordred glances at her before turning his attention out to the water. “It’s part of a knight’s burden,” he tells her. “But I shall try.”
She gives up, just leaning on him. There’s a different kind of balance to be found there, listening to his heartbeat while he stands guard, surrounded by the things that live in their bones deeper than most. “We can do magic here,” she murmurs. “Did you realise that?” She turns a little, putting her back to his arms, and sweeps her mind out over the ocean. There should be fishermen out there, maybe a ship plying trade.
There shouldn’t be fear. There shouldn’t be a boatload of anger — Summer stills, except for one hand groping for the hilt of Mordred’s sword.