On one wrist there were dark bruises left by Uriens' fingers. ng of water and blood that now she could feel drenching her thighs, she dragged herself to the banner she had wov The sweet-tasting drink had cleared her mind of fatigue and sorrow. He frowned and thought for a moment, then asked, Morgaine, is he Lancelet's son? She supposed the question was natural enough-they had been friends from childhood.
Had he not aligned himself firmly with Arthur and with the Christians, traitor to Avalon? But perhaps some other man now held that office, Messenger of the Gods, Merlin of Britain . Well, there is no help for it, I must spin then-unless you would have me do the weaving. Had it wearied her so much as this when last she made this journey, half a year ago? It seemed now to her t No, let my lady do it, her hands are gentler- he said, and Gwenhwyfar took the steaming hot cloth-so hot it was she burned her fingers, but she welcomed the pain as penance.
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