The confession pained him.

"I'm not leaving anyone behind, ever again," he swore, meaning every word of it. For a moment he hesitated, finding himself back in the tower. He felt Arthur's hand on the back of his shirt and heard creaking of hinges as the door was wrenched open. He was thrown out onto the stairs for the hundredth time.

Tristan stumbled a little as he dragged Grayson through the sparse grasses, losing his footing on the steps. His heart pounded all the harder in his chest as the door was slammed closed and Arthur's voice echoed in his ears.

RUN!

Quickening his pace he half-pulled, half-carried his friend the rest of the way. As they staggered past the first rows of trees they closed in behind them. The light of the afternoon dimmed, smothered out by the branches closing in over their heads. Tristan gritted his teeth, trying his best to see the wood of the tree trunks, to hear the crunch of leave beneath his feet, and not the stone walls of the tower and his father's voice.

Somehow, he managed to focus enough to find an old half-rotten tree-trunk sticking up out of the undergrowth. When they reached it, he lowered Grayson down onto it and sat down cross-legged on the ground beside him. Shrugging off his bag he pulled it open and reached inside.

"I haven't got much with me," he said, forcing a smile, "but you're welcome to what there is. You look like you haven't eaten in weeks." Tristan pressed two small parcels, wrapped in a thin muslin, into Grayson's hands. "There's salted meat in one," he explained, "and dried fruit in the other. We'll get you something more substantial when we get back to camp. I can't promise it'll be good quality, but it will be hot."

Avoiding his friend's eye, he busied himself with his canteen. He unscrewed the metal lid and passed it over to Grayson with another half-smile. What could he tell him? There was plenty to say, more than enough news to impart but he didn't think he could do it. No one had asked him what had happened, and he didn't think he could have found the words if they had. It was all trapped inside his head, playing over and over in a continuous loop. Sometimes he could bury it. Physical work helped, and exercise, drink and sex, anything, anything to keep his thoughts on something else. Small things would bring it all back in a flood, flashes of images and sounds and smells.

But he had no words. Silence was safe. Silence kept the reality at bay.

Celidon finally found them, just as Tristan was accepting back the canteen. The guards were gone. It was all Tristan needed to know, and he didn't press the cu-sith any further. He stroked his familiar's head affectionately, and glanced at Grayson. What happened to you? he wanted to ask, but he held his tongue. If Grayson had asked him the same thing he wouldn't have had an answer for him, so it'd be unfair to pry.

"Can you find something for Ezra, Cel?" Tristan said instead. Celidon woofed to the affirmative and vanished off back into the trees again.

"Take as long as you need, man," he told Grayson. "The trees will keep us safe. I couldn't begin to guess why, but I think they like me."

Tristan