[He had gone in Search of his Master, of course. First to the Dreadful place of his Summoning. Then to the River. Then to every Dark corner and Woeful place of memory. Nothing.
He sees the other occasional shade, but their shapes seem unimportant for none is the shape of his Master. No stranger to traveling apart from the World, Lancelot drifts at Will. But here. Here is Arthur.
At last. Now that there is no War left to Fight. He nods in Greeting, not Trusting his Voice.]
no subject
He sees the other occasional shade, but their shapes seem unimportant for none is the shape of his Master. No stranger to traveling apart from the World, Lancelot drifts at Will.
But here. Here is Arthur.
At last.
Now that there is no War left to Fight. He nods in Greeting, not Trusting his Voice.]