Morgana knew there were going to be soldiers, of course. She had not expected to visit the Ravine in broad daylight without being spotted, but it was not her intention to hide this time. She wanted to be seen visiting: let them know she had friends in small, low places. What did it matter to them who she was? No one knew her name yet, no one recognized her for her blood.
They would, in time.
For now, she would use her anonymity to her own ends. She approached what amounted to a guard house, a mud hut just before the Ravine where the patrols took breaks and one remained station to watch for any interlopers or new prisoners sent to the Prison beyond. The Ravine was sheer just feet behind the den, and could only be accessed by the ropes and basket the guards had devised to lower and lift prisoners, supplies, and whatever else from the Ravine.
A guard emerged. His name was Ghalati and usually he was out with his Lady, as he called her, protecting her for the trouble she got into on her own. She did not really need him: he was certain if he was not there should not be half so bold as she had become. Really, he was just instigating, and asking for it simply by being present. Yet he was sworn to her duty, and by her side he remained, steadfast and dedicated to keeping her safe in her quests for information to bring back to the King.
He lived in the Caddoc Province, and though he was here at the Ravine today it was not his usual station, even when he was home from questing. It had been mostly a fluke that brought him to guard the reception hut, a lion in desperate need to return to his mate, who was having a litter, begging him to take over. He did not understand why she could not simply have them herself, with midwives, and leave him to his work but it seemed the lion was the sort that needed to coddle his mate endlessly.
Ghalati knew very little of love. He had never been in it, and so far it looked more troublesome than anything else. To call a lion from his duty seemed too much to ask. It was dishonorable to shirk responsibility, no matter the excuse.
But he had sighed and agreed to it, because despite his personal thoughts he was not the kind to dismiss someone in need.
He saw the lioness approaching and did not recognize her. She had grown up in the Ravine, for the most part, and Ygraine and Uther had never spoken publicly about their litter. Everyone knew there had been a litter to the Queen that did not belong to the King, and he drove them out, but from there the story diverged too much for Ghalati to want to follow. He cared little for politics.
“Halt,” he said, with surprising authority for how little his tone seemed to care for the word, or the result. He watched her as she listened to him, her yellow eyes flashing up to meet his and a smile spreading over her simple, but pretty enough features. She had the look of a Druid about her, he decided, the way her expression seemed to be sneering at him even though she was just smiling. He nodded at her, and she nodded back, almost imperceptively.
“Good evening, soldier,” she said.
“What brings you to the Prison at this hour,” he asked. She bristled a bit, but he did not notice. Or he did not care to note it. It was difficult to tell with Ghalati where the line between what he did and did not see lay. Morgana was having trouble finding it, which surprised her. It put her on edge, as well, as she did not like being unable to read her opponents. And any Toka, particularly the guards and loyalists, were immediately enemies.
“I was hoping to visit a friend. He is to be released soon.”
“Then you will wait for his release,” Ghalati said dismissively. And that, to him, was the end of the conversation. He got up from where he had settled into a perch and turned from her, walking away with a slow, heavy gait. His paws beat upon the earth with his entire foot, his stride even but drawn out. He was in no hurry to get anywhere, but could cross large distances with each footfall. He was well practiced at keeping himself comfortable while performing the duties he needed to, it seemed, and had struck the balance a long time ago.
Morgana watched him go, frowning at his back. She was used to being treated poorly by Toka, the guards particularly, but she had not expected him to simply walk away from her. That was more insult than she knew how to bare, to be treated as if she was nothing at all. To not even warrant his attention for more than a few seconds, and even that had felt like he was straining to give it to her. This might have been how he treated everyone, but for her it was too much.
It took everything in her power not to leap on his back and tear him open.
Instead, she kept her eyes on him and absorbed everything she could about his pelt, his weight, his shape. She would not forget him, and would make sure that when the time came, and she had felled her far greater enemy, he would be the next to suffer. Maybe that was a bit much, but he was certainly on the list now. This pompous lion who had desire to even speak with her. He would fall, after his King.
Ghalati, for his part, was simply eager to return to the mud hut, as it was very hot and he liked the shade it provided. It was well insulated, and the cool air seemed to linger in it as if it had a source to draw from. If he did not have to be outside, he did not want to be.
The Druid could see herself home.
(Word Count: 1,036 in Word)
