Altair rolled his shoulders in a shrug and folded himself gracefully to the ground. He lay in the leaf litter, yellow eyes fixed intently on her face.

"I don't know about strapping," he replied, flexing his wings. "but he's around. Skulking, probably. We just met some of your local militia, stupid bunch, Neanderthal brows. They really did pension you off to the sticks, didn't they?"

The lynx's ears twitched as Mace came crashing through the undergrowth. He eyed the drawn sword with a bored expression and remained at his ease on the ground.

"I'd get up and salute, Captain," Altair purred, making no obvious effort to attempt either. "But it's been a long couple of days." He yawned pointedly to demonstrate.

Gawain's mangled fingers tightened around the smooth leather grip of his sword, the tapered blade pointed down towards the ground, waiting. He crept further through the undergrowth, keeping to the shadows and moving silently between the thick tree trunks of the forest. Voices rumbled up ahead, one unmistakeably Altair the other distinctly feminine.

He crept closer.

Pressing his back against the bark of the tree he peered around the edge, just in time to see a familiar figure emerge from the opposing line of trees. Mace? His gaze drifted to Altair, then to Josephine, recognition stirring, and then back at the Captain's drawn sword. He had a face like thunder too. He glared out into the trees as if daring them to glare back. The nearest oak started to creak.

Grinning, Gawain stepped out into the open.

"So my options are, make myself known or make myself known?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Altair chortled from somewhere on his left. "How would you know which version of making myself known was which? I've seen you with a sword, I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of a misunderstanding." Determined to avoid one, he sheathed his falchion, sliding it back into the scabbard on his belt with a practiced hand. Gawain raised his arms and turned his palms towards Mace.

"You can stand down, Captain," he reassured him, "I didn't even know you were here."

"Josephine and I just had an enlightening conversation about the passage of time," Altair explained, eyes gleaming, "it's a bitch, isn't it?" Gawain threw him a look, but the lynx just started laughing to himself again. He came to a stop just behind his familiar, dirty-blonde hair falling haphazardly around his scarred face. A new addition since his days training at the academy.

Gawain looked around at the trees and then back at Mace. He raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Why would I have been sent to take you in?" he asked curiously, "what on earth have you been up to?"

He heard of course, that alliance officers had been sent to Shaman, years ago. He'd missed the deadline to apply, he and Scout had been off in the Trilliam galaxy tracking a particularly noxious group of intergalactic terrorists. They had been out of communication for months. Another opportunity missed. Gawain sighed as his father's face swam before his eyes. If he'd been closer, if he'd come to Shaman with Mace all that time ago, then Arthur would still have been alive.
He'd held on to the thought of a reunion for so long...

Shaman it seemed, still never gave you exactly what you expected.

"It's an odd place, this..." he said, gesturing around at the clearing. "You know, yesterday I saw a horse-sized weasel stealing eggs from a tree? What's that about?"

Gawain