Nimue

A great, dark winged form wheeled in the air above the ruined keep. Nimue blinked at the drizzle falling and watched it against the grey sky. It looped in great spirals around the remains of what had once been a modest keep, then lost perhaps to fire, perhaps to battle, she was uncertain which, though she could still see faint sooty stains among the toppled stones. Judging by the gnarled trees that she wove between as she came closer, the structure had been lost a considerable time ago. 

She paused when she heard a shrieking cry from the bird of prey and watched as the last of its loops lead it to a stop perched on the branches of a stunted yew. Yellow eyes above a cruel beak stared at her. A falcon, she realized.

"Watching my every move," she said.

It didn't answer, or at least not in a way that could be understood, but the bird's presence did not bode well. She was certain that the creature was there to spy on her. But why?

"What are you?" she said.

It didn't move. It simply looked at her. She stared back. It spread its wings. The dark feathers blended in with the grey sky and she lost track of it.

She shivered from the cold and huddled deeper into her cloak as she hastened on. The trees around her were not nearly as high and thick as the forest she had wandered through for days as she searched. Just before the ruins, she passed over a small stream and paused at the sound of a loud splash. Something was in the water, but a quick glanced confirmed to to be merely a frog which had leapt within. She pushed on, and the trail narrowed to a steep hill.

 

She hurried up the steep hill and then she found it. The moment she saw the castle, she knew something was wrong. It was pristine, with no signs of damage from anything, and though the keep was largely intact, every other part of the structure had been destroyed, leaving open cavernous holes where they had once been. She frowned, what was this place? Where had she come to? The bird cried out again, and she felt something twist in her stomach. The thing was mocking her. She turned to make her way back down the hill when something caught her eye. She paused just below the crest of the hill a moment, and that was when she saw it. It was a figure, a man standing at the edge of the forest and staring at her. She hadn't even noticed him before, he was so perfectly camouflaged in the fog. But there he was, and she had no idea who he was. 

The man darted into the forest.

"No!" she shouted hesitating, and then, picking up her skirts, she ran after him, splashing across the stream as she did. She could see the edge of the forest in the fog. She could see the trees and the undergrowth, but she couldn't see him.

A forgotten trail. Narrow and overgrown, it was no wider than her feet, but it was still visible. She tore down it, aware of the man's steps a few yards ahead, and she was able to keep up until it widened into a clearing.

The ground gave way beneath her foot, and she stumbled into a pit that had been covered by overgrown brush. She cried out as she fell against the side, the hard ground knocking the air out of her. She fell to her knees and then rolled to her side, and then she saw the figure standing over her. He was tall and he wore a hooded cloak to conceal his features. She shook her head, trying to get her breath back, and then she looked up. She tried to push herself back, but the soft earth around her was too forgiving and she couldn't get enough purchase to do more than wiggle.

"I have you," he said. "You have nowhere to go."

"Who are you?" she said when she finally found her voice.

"The question is, who are you?" He squatted down at the edge of the pit at looked at her quizzically, arms hidden inside a worn and dirty cloak.

She tried to muster all the dignity possible. "I am Nimue."

"I think not," the man said.

"Who are you?" she said.

She pushed herself up to her knees. She was breathing fast. She tried to slow her heartrate and then she noticed that he did not wear the colors of Camelot. She didn't recognize the colors at all.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Cullin Thorne, m'lady." The sarcasm in his voice was thick but not bitter.

She winced at the title, but she nodded to herself. She knew his name. She had heard whispers of a man called Thorne, a firebrand raider and rebel seen in the Greenswood. It was said that he was a noble lord, though she had no idea why. He didn't look like any lord she had ever seen. His cloak was threadbare with holes in places, and the cloak itself had so many colors in the fabric that she couldn't even begin to count them. She could hardly guess at his age. Young, perhaps in his twenties, but worn from outdoor living, beyond that she didn't know what to make of him.

"You are not of Camelot." she sighed. "And I am not a lady."

"No," he said, standing.

"Why were you watching me?" She pushed herself to her feet. She brushed the dirt from her dress, and then she tried to smooth down her hair.

"That," he said, standing and adjusting his cloak so that the hood shielded his face, "is my business."

"But you are against Arthur, aren't you?" she said.

"I am," he turned to busy himself with a pack nearby that Nimue had not previously noticed.

"What are you doing?" A new voice called from somewhere nearby.

"Keep still," Thorne said, his voice hard.

"We will be found." The voice was more distant, but it was still clear.

A gust of wind tore through the foliage, and it almost knocked her off her feet. The leaves danced in the air and it was so sudden and so forceful that she was certain that the trees would topple over. Nimue pulled her cloak tight around her and held it closed at the neck.

"Would you like to help me up, Syr Thorne?" Her own sarcasm was laced into the title.

The wind died down suddenly, and she felt Thorne's eyes turn to her. She shivered despite herself after she had spoken, and Thorne turned to her and lifted a hand to his face and then tossed his hood back. He was a handsome man, with dark hair and beard and a lean face, but his eyes were hard. Nimue found herself staring at him, and he stared back.

"Do not call me that. I am not a knight and I never will be." He smiled at her, but it was a humorless smile.

He squatted, and reached a hand down toward her. 

"Cullin," a voice called.

"Coming," he called back. Then he paused at the edge of the pit and turned back to look at her.

Nimue took his hand.