A/N: I’m going to transfer my original “summary” (blurb) here and leave it at the beginning of each entry for the rest of this story. So here’s the recreation below:

All I'm going to say is... Inspirations: CAMELOT, KING ARTHUR, FIRST KNIGHT... NOT rip-offs... have given plot outline

Enjoy!

Also Note: PLEASE READ MY NOTES AT THE END OF SECTIONS. IT HELPS TO EXPLAIN WHY MY WRITING MAY BE THE WAY IT IS AND WHY TYPOS ARE LEFT IN (ETC, ETC…). THANK YOU. -“ANN”

Guenevere of the Highlands, along the Pictish shores where Pictland lay, strode purposefully to the river’s edge. She let her hair down and disengaged her train. She rolled her gown made of rabbit fur and hawk down up, revealing a dagger sheathed to her ankle, and, upon removing the belted holder, stepped into the water. She let the cool, light waves wash over her and slowly waded in, deeper and deeper as she moved toward the center. There was a cool, refreshing scent in the air and the breeze ruffled her strawberry blonde tresses.

“Mmm.” She closed her eyes and sighed.

Having left all her weaponry upon the embankment, she waded in further and sunk beneath the surface.

When she came up, she spread her arms and did a dance. The slow rhythm of her hips and serene expression of her closed eyes and knowing smile gave an impression of enchantment or some sort of ritualistic styling.

Then, quite suddenly, she started swimming upstream. In and out of the water she glided, as though one with the water. When she reached the area of land parallel to the edge of the forest, she slowly relaxed into a sleeping position upon her back and let the water carry her—drifting back to her original starting location.

She stared up at the sky with wide glassy, violet-hued eyes and daydreamed. The steady waves rolling beneath her soothed her with the consistency of the drum beat. She felt her skin soak in the river and bronze with the sun. She was in heaven and nary a care in the world.

———

When she returned to her original spot, she was relieved to find all her weapons intact and untouched, having realized the foolishness in leaving unconcealed weapons out in the open for enemies to find and use against her. She re-tied the two concealed daggers—one upon her thigh, the other about her ankle. She strapped on the bow-and-arrow that was her primary defense and re-engaged her cloak about her hair and body. To an onlooker from afar she was but a hooded and caped figure gliding through the forest.

She knew she was not safe and that it be best she conceal her identity. Her kind was not welcome in the forest and all who dared enter were either captured or slaughtered for trespass, but never seen again.

She hurried.

Though she was a young woman and capable of defending herself, her task was important and the urgency of reaching the famed Sarmatian band of warriors was too great. She thus preferred that no trouble lay ahead and a smooth course towards the cavalrymen was needed.

Her village could not sustain another war, as the last time one of such magnitude was struck against her home and its people nearly left them barren and did leave them devastated. She must protect her homeland from the obscene greed of the Saxon raiders who were rallying to take by force her village once and for all—clearing a pathway and a new habitation for the barbarians in one swipe.

With this thought in mind, she pressed on harder and quickened her gliding gait. She traveled in the darkness of shade and through the thickest parts of the forest, knowing the danger of doing so, but also the protection such a cover would provide her.

She slid smoothly from designated spot to spot with the ease of a mountain cat, and her liquid movements made her one with the forest. The haphazard transitions could also confuse a tail, and, although more tedious in method and time-consuming in nature, these back-tracks also offered safety and ensured completion and success of the task set out for her.

As the village head elder’s daughter, there had been, of course, objection to her taking on the journey into the wild lands and Dark Forest, but, in the end, her unmatched skill and slight frame offered the most sure success and disguised a mighty warrior.

Given that she would be alone, and a woman, however, gave her father and the other elders cause for anxiety and the grief that would befall her father should she become lost would be too great.

The Council of Elders had deigned to send their mightiest male warrior, but Guenevere had stormed in and interrupted the meeting, stating quite plainly that she would go. There was an uproar and much argument, but her father remained silent and resolute, for he knew that her determined expression meant one thing: that she would go and no one could stop her. Anyone who tried would suffer injury to not only their pride, but physical being as well. She was as quick with her words as she was with her sword.

Yet, the Elders deliberated and ordained that a competition should be set, thinking to discourage the adolescent daughter of their highest chieftain, but she rose to the challenge unflinchingly and won, to her father’s and everyone else’s dismay. However, now the deed was done and there was no turning back. Her father had known she would succeed but had hoped she would fail, ensuring her safety and longevity.

But she had emerged victorious and had set off early the next morning—the entire village up to send off their beloved princess. All who knew her loved her and her irresistible charm made her bluntness seem endearing, her brashness the sign of a true warrior with the spirit of a leader. Her father touched his forehead to hers and, unable to bear the despair of parting from her any longer, sent his only child off into the dangers of that outside world. She would be the envoy from their small world to the most famed cavalry in that empire-era.

Thinking back on her father’s expression when she had last seen him, she started to sprint, sliding in and out of bushes, to speed up her approach toward Pictland’s salvation. She was sure the Sarmatian lord would not refuse, as their nobility and brave-heartedness was legend, not to mention the simple truth that no one had ever been able to refuse Guenevere a request yet.

She stopped behind a large tree and listened as she caught her breath.

About to continue her trek, her foot paused when she heard the snap of a twig.

This was either an enemy or a creature of the forest, but she would have to assume the worst. She remained in position, and when she sensed the telltale sign of warmth emanating close by, she knew that it was no friendly beast come to meet her, but some as yet unknown foe.

She knew she had no choice but to face her enemy, and with a defiant but determined expression, she stepped out of her shadowed cover, and turned to embrace the unknown.

———

End of THREE

———

READ THIS PART PLEASE!!!:

Same thing as I said previously:

Look, if it seems like it’s choppy or grammatically incorrect, this is, after all, a first draft. And that’s how I publish my stories.

And I’m hard at work on Four and possibly Five, so there’s definitely more in store!

R&R! PLEASE do.

“ANN”

Also... I'm not anywhere near accurate, historically. So just imagine that it's another world and another time. That way, you won't get too fixated on the details. :)