Gawain wandered away from the camp, his bag slung over his shoulder and his familiar at his heels. It was late, the fires had burned low, and most of the camp's inhabitants had retreated to their sleeping bags for the night. He couldn't have slept, even if he'd wanted to. He kept his gaze on his feet, on the leaf-strewn ground, caring little for his direction of travel. Getting lost sounded appealing, even if it was only for a little while. Everything would need to be faced in the morning.

"We could talk about it..." Altair ventured, jogging a little to keep up with Gawain's long strides.

"Not tonight, Alt," Gawain said, his voice catching in the back of his throat. "I think I just want quiet tonight."

Quiet? Altair wondered, or peace?

He sighed and stopped, sitting down in the leaf litter. The lynx waited a while, watching his fairy's retreating back, and then he turned and headed back towards the fires of the camp.

"Call if you want me, kid."

Gawain thanked him silently as he picked up his pace and strode deeper into the Kingswood. He kept a steady path through the trees, leaving all signs of life behind him. His mind raced, thinking of Tristan, of Mace, of his father, and his long-lost mother. Was her death on him? She had been ill before they'd taken him. He'd been sitting vigil by her beside when they'd come for him. Gawain remembered looking up from his book at the sound of footsteps, expecting his father, and found a stranger's face instead. That face still haunted his dreams. The man who owned it had been the one to take his finger tips, the one who had tried so desperately to make him forget who he was, to strip everything away.

His head throbbed.

He walked until his legs and feet ached, emotion welling up in his throat. And when he found he could walk no further, Gawain sunk down to the ground, his back pressed up against the trunk of a particularly gnarled tree. The sensation alone was enough to send him surging back to his earlier argument with Mace, and every emotion he'd been feeling in that moment bubbled back to the surface.

Gawain surrendered to silent tears, his head buried in his arms.

He lost all sense of time. The darkness seem to close in around him like a fog. And then something cold brushed against his hand.

Surprised, he glanced up, and a little patch of darkness leapt away from him, stopping frozen a few metres away. Gawain found himself staring into the eyes of a strange looking creature, its ears, almost comically large, turned towards him curiously. He couldn't decide if it was more bear or dog. It eyes were dog-like, as was the way it wiggled its bum around in barely-contained excitement.

But it had left blood in the grass by his feet.

"Hey buddy," Gawain sniffed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "You going to come over here and let me take a look at you?"

Gawain