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Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.
The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.
Summer had walked out of Camelot without thought, intent only on running away from the pain. At home, in Dover, it would have been fine; she knew those forests like the beat of her own heart, and there was no chance of getting lost. In the forests of Camelot, it was a whole different thing.
It’s been hours, and she’s never been so lost in her life. She’s far out of reach of anyone she could touch with her magic, and on foot she could be almost anywhere by now. Hopelessly, she sits down with her back to a tree and just cries for a while, lost and alone and afraid. When her tears run dry, leaving her raw, the night has mostly closed in, and the air is chill.
She gives up the idea of finding her way back to Camelot, making a tiny fire with her magic and curling up next it.
The voice behind him was laced with bitterness, an unwelcome feeling washing over him but he dared not turn to face the man from whom it came. “Ragnor,” he says, a smile tracing his lips, “what a surprise, I was looking for you.”
The morning doesn’t make things any better. The sky is heavy with clouds, the wind chill with the promise of rain. Alhough nothing had approached her in the night, thanks to her fire, Summer knows that’s not likely to last long, and she’s neither armed nor provisioned. She picks a direction where the light seems a little brighter, and starts walking, stopping only when she crosses a stream, to drink, or when she needs to relieve herself.
She finds a few things she knows are good to eat, but it’s barely enough to still the grumbling in her belly. It’s not actually very long before she’s stumbling along in a daze, unfocused on anything except her growing misery.