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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.
“I got lost,” she cries back, “just runni—”
— just running from fighting with you.
“I can’t go back to Camelot, because I don’t know how to get there from here,” Summer forces herself to say calmly. “And I won’t go until you tell me why you left.” She slumps on the ground, lack of sleep, lack of food, and use of magic all combining to exhaust her. “I don’t think I could make it more than a few steps right now, anyway.”
He holds his hand out to her. “I’ll help you,” he tells her, “but what you request is something I cannot repeat, I am sorry.”
Sulkily, childishly, she turns her head away from his hand. “I won’t go unless you stay with me.”