EACHDRAIDH

( In the days since Guinevere's arrival she has employed a careful tread - listening to the locket and learning its magic. It's in her nature to be swift and silent - the survival of the woads is in their stealth - and as little time as possible has been spent trapped between four walls. Her gown is gone, replaced with brown leathers and a sleeveless tunic featuring a cowl neck, and knotted belts criss-cross her hips to hold the sheaths for her long knives.

A little blue dye to pattern her skin and she'd be feeling much more like herself. )

The land is different here.

( She appears to be seated, her bow propped close, and is holding the locket between both hands. From the view of what's behind her it's clear that she isn't in Caer Glaem: dappled shadows slip across her face and a breeze twists itself through a canopy of leaves. Pausing, Guinevere glances off to the side for a moment like a fox with its ears pricked. She's still listening. The worms were nightmarish - she had never seen their like before - but she knows how to choose her battles as she knows when to disappear.

Presently, she speaks again. )

Do you feel it? Perhaps it is the magic of the so-called faerie folk, but it rests heavy between these trees. The weight of it is almost a comfort.

( Her eyes, although wry and amused, retain that depth of level and calm. Thus far she's ventured into the Great Greenwood surrounding Caer Glaem in an attempt to better understand the land, never wandering so far as to lose herself but rarely passing the same mark twice. Nature speaks to her and here its voice is warm and kind.

Guinevere's, on the other hand, is playful at scorn.)

I cannot imagine why any woman or man would prefer cold stone to a green shelter.

( Bloody hippies. Guinevere lifts an eyebrow, then tilts her head as though unsure of whether or not she wishes to continue.)

And Arthur - or perhaps Lancelot - if you have arrived in these strange lands ...

( A hand reaches to touch her bow as she lowers her lashes, smirking privately.)

Meet with me. Someone has to protect you from the brutes on the battlefield, after all.